


Bronze and Blue

by ChillieBean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 19th century AU, Aether, Automaton!Bastion, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Edo Period Japan, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Fic with a history lesson, Heavy tobacco use, M/M, Medium Burn, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Riverboat Jesse McCree, Steampunk elements, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Wild West America, Year 1865, period language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 93,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: Inventor and purveyor of only the finest wares, Jesse McCree is known worldwide for his fully functional prostheses and proprietary aether. Looking to break into the lucrative Japanese market now that trade with the country has opened, Jesse is set to showcase his wares and expand his reach further across the globe.It all comes crashing down around him when assassin to the reclusive and fearsome Shimada Clan, Shimada Hanzo, tells him that his brother Genji has gone missing - the same man who Jesse hired as an apprentice under the guise of another name and who he considers a good friend.With no leads to go on, Jesse and Hanzo set sail half-way around the world, discovering that their fates are well and truly entwined.





	1. Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Bronze and Blue!
> 
> This fic has been nine months in the making. When I decided to write this one in particular, I knew that it would be a challenge, and that the Big Bang would give me the kick I needed to write it. I won't lie - it's been hard, for many reasons.
> 
> The first thing you should know going into this, is this is as close as I could get to writing something actually set in 1865. This includes using a lot of period-specific language, old Western slang and phrases and idioms which were worded differently back then. I'll make it a point to refer back to them in the notes.
> 
> While this is set in 1865, it does have a lot of technology not pertaining to the period itself - the prosthetics, Bastion and a couple other goodies are an example of that. This fic has steampunk elements, but the world itself is not steampunk - I want to make that clear.
> 
> I wasn't given the opportunity to study Edo Period Japan or Wild West America during my studies. Everything here I found by the power of the internet, and while I made sure to double check my sources, if something is amiss or off, please don't hesitate to let me know and I'll fix it right up. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> This fic contains some heavy themes. Aside from the sexually explicit nature, it contains graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore and body horror. In Japan in this time period, polygamy was common. There will be discussions about mistresses and toeing the line between right and wrong. I'll warn for these themes before the chapters also. I have also tagged emotional manipulation, and I want to make it abundantly clear that this is only from the clan elders to Hanzo.
> 
> Now that the administrative stuff is out of the way, as we all know, a Big Bang works by partnering up an author with an artist. I was extremely fortunate to be partnered with the wonderful and amazingly talented [Aredes](http://aredesification.tumblr.com/), and before you even read the fic, you [need to see the cover art](http://aredesification.tumblr.com/post/172090363494/p-bronze-blue-story-by-chilliebean5-and-art), which wholly encapsulates the theme of it!! As the other pieces are potential spoilers, I'll link them at the end of their respective chapters, but they are on Aredes' page now if you're game!!
> 
> Aredes - Thank you so much for putting up with my requests, changing the final piece on you at the last second and thank you for producing this art. I am beyond grateful for these pieces, they are just beautiful! It was an absolute pleasure working with you!!
> 
> This work was beta'd by the wonderful Magisey!! Magisey and I met in this event, and they have been my rock, my shoulder to lean on, my person to discuss my silly headcanons with and to vent my frustrations. Magisey, without you, I probably wouldn't be here now. I value the friendship we've developed and I look forward to working with you beyond this event. You guys should most definitely check out Magisey's fic, [ Red Dead Revival](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117223/chapters/32528763), I had the opportunity to beta for them and it's a fantastic fic!
> 
> I would also like to take the time to thank Dee for hosting this wonderful event! Dee, your organisational skills, your professionalism running this event has made it an absolute pleasure to be a part of, and I'm looking forward to working with you in the future. To anyone interested, Dee will be hosting a McHanzo Reverse Bang shortly, and if you're keen on participating, I highly recommend it!!
> 
> I also want to thank everyone still standing in the BB. We made it, guys!!! Thank you for putting up with my nonsense, my ramblings, my oversharing of snippets. To anyone reading this, I do implore you to check out everyone else's work. The stories generated are nothing but amazing!!
> 
> Okay!! Without further ado, I do hope you enjoy this fic!

Jesse McCree stands at the bow of his steamboat; left foot resting on the bronze railing, the right firmly planted on the deck to keep balance as the boat rocks gently. He leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee while taking a puff from his cigar.

He eyes the large trees on either side of the shoreline, in full bloom with delicate white and pink cherry blossoms. Lined one after the other, they reflect off the water in a near perfect mirror image.

The spring sun beams down from a cloudless sky, warming the cool, still air. Jesse closes his eyes and tilts his head up, taking a deep breath. The air smells different here; different from the American Southwest where he grew up, different from the countless European winters he’s endured.

The air is different, but not unfamiliar.

Jesse has tried multiple times to crack the lucrative East Asian market. He has even taken on apprentices from all reaches – China, Korea, Japan, Vietnam – learning about their cultures and people; their interests and favourite pastimes. He’s visited their capital cities, learned enough of their languages to get by and is working at making a name for himself.

Today, and the following two days, Jesse will be showcasing his inventions in Edo, Japan. Always up for a challenge, Japan is the most lucrative and has been the hardest market to break into; something made easier now that trade with the country has opened. If successful, he would see money flowing in faster than he could spend it. He taps his mechanical fingers on his knee thinking of the things he could buy, the things he could build.

Placing his cigar between his teeth, he picks up the card tucked into his prosthetic arm. The Ace of Spades; Jesse calls it his lucky card. It has saved his life more times than he could count and has been with him since he was just a boy of eight years. He turns it over in his hand absently, then back again.

Looking at the dock in the distance, he narrows his eyes and focuses on the other boats. Painted in reds and blues, black smoke billows from dirty soot covered chimneys, a horrid byproduct of their coal fired engines. He shakes his head; there ain’t anything more disgusting than _that_ polluting the skies.

Looking over his shoulder, Jesse eyes the clean steam billowing from his chimneys. The main showpiece of his presentation is his combustible aether – the power source for his engine and in his wares.

_“We approach the dock, Jesse.”_

“Thanks, Bas,” Jesse calls out over his shoulder. He tucks the card back in his prosthetic before turning and climbing up the ladder to join his crewmate on the bridge.

Bastion stands at the wheel of the steamboat, steering and making course adjustments as required. Hand built by Jesse himself, he is the only automaton in existence. Standing at over seven foot tall, iron, brass, bronze and copper in appearance, he is certainly the hulking machine. He serves as pilot of the boat primarily, and the large gun on his back is warning enough that he also doubles as security.

Jesse frowns as he approaches Bastion, being this close to the loud, clanking gears is a necessary bother. And after spending so long below deck, it is going to take some time to get used to. He glances at the large cast iron gears which connect to the paddles on either side of his boat; the means of propulsion.

“Slow it down, Bas; park ‘er right there,” Jesse orders, voice raised and gruff to talk over the noise, while pointing at the empty space on the pier.

When Bastion whistles, Jesse turns on his heel and approaches the ladder shaft, climbing down; one of two he utilises. While this shaft leads him to crew chambers, the second ladder leads to the engine room, situated below the living space.

Below deck, the sound of the gears above is insulated. Large piping runs along the ceiling, channeling the steam generated by the aether to the two chimneys above deck. The heat from the by-product is practically insufferable during summer, but is especially cosy during freezing winters.

He walks past two empty bed chambers, ready to go if he ever wants to increase his crew complement. He has taken people on before, some friends and some apprentices. He's never had anyone stay longer than six months in his years of travel, and now it was just him and his trusty automaton. The kitchen, recreation room, one of two workshops and bathroom fill out the rest of the space.

The room at the end of the corridor is his chambers; his place of solitude. The large room contains a king size mahogany wooden canopy bed, two large navy blue velvet single couches with high arms and higher backs, a library full to the brim with novels to distract him on lonely nights and an ensuite, the centrepiece being his bath. Hidden behind double doors is his wardrobe, containing both his dress clothes and work clothes.

He plucks his hat off his head and places it on the bed before setting his cigar on the sink in the ensuite. Looking at himself in the freestanding mirror beside his closet, he pulls a comb out of his breast pocket and combs his dark brown hair back, falling just past the nape of his neck. He smooths down his moustache and the hair below his bottom lip, and rubs at the stubble on his cheeks with his flesh hand.

“I’ll get round to shaving tomorrow,” he mutters to himself.

Placing the comb back in his pocket, he loosens his blue cravat and reties it neatly under the collar of his white shirt, then smooths his hands over his matching blue waistcoat, tugging on the bottom hem to straighten it. Unclasping the large leather belt around his waist and the smaller belt around his right thigh, he removes the holster for his gun, hanging the leather on the coat rack inside the wardrobe. He tucks his gun, his trusty six-shooter by the name of Peacekeeper, in a secondary holster wrapped around his torso, concealed by his burgundy leather tailcoat.

The right sleeve of his tailcoat is full length, up to his wrist. On his left, however, it is shortened to the top of his prosthetic, just above his elbow. Definitely his most distinguishing feature, aside from his good looks, and a great advertisement for the work he does.

His look is complete with black trousers and black steel capped boots; important in his line of work, _‘cause sometimes kickin’ it will make it work,_ he thinks to himself with a smirk. He grabs his hat off the bed and places it back on his head. The black Stetson is brand new and the latest fashion trend to come out of the States, and you can bet your bottom dollar he picked up more than one.

Glancing at his now extinguished cigar, he flicks the ash into the sink and places it in his breast pocket. He reaches inside his trouser pocket, pulling out a single white glove and slides it on his flesh hand.

With a hat tip and a wink to his reflection, he exits his chambers, closing the door behind him. He proceeds back through the corridor and up the ladder, joining Bastion on the bridge again. The clanking gears slow to a grind before coming to a stop as they pull into the pier. Bastion flips the lever lowering the anchor, the boat glides on its own momentum before it catches, just short of billing against the pier.

Once stationary, Jesse closes his eyes and takes in the sounds around him: The quiet murmur of people just beyond the pier, the soft sound of music; a stringed instrument not unlike a guitar carries on the gentle breeze. But most of all, it's the sound of birds chirping on the nearby cherry blossoms that is music to his ears.

He looks down at the dock, acknowledging the three men greeting him with a hat tip. Bastion extends the ramp, the metal clanks together as the pieces lock into place. It settles on the wood of the dock with a loud thud, sending a spray of splinters in the air.

_“Do you require security, Jesse?”_

“Nah, I’m all good Bas. You stay here and be your imposin’ self.” He gives the robot a slap on the arm, eyes flitting to the white dove perching Bastion's shoulder. “Best you can be with Gany on your shoulder, at least.” Jesse gives the bird a gentle pat on its chest before turning on his heel and descending the secondary ladder leading into the engine room.

Approaching the heavy iron door of his engine room, he plucks out a keyring with several bronze keys from his trouser pocket. Carding through the collection, he finds the key he’s after and the door unlocks with a series of clicks. He steps through and closes the door behind him, greeted by the familiar radiance of the burning aether which casts the engine room in an eerie purple glow.

The engine room itself isn’t a traditional engine room seen on other boats. A smaller than usual boiler sits in the middle of the room, large enough to take a solid chunk of aether the size of his fist. The small clump is enough to power his boat for six months at full crew capacity; almost a year if it’s just him.

The only other item in the otherwise empty engine room is a chest containing the aether, which sits beside the door of the room. The aether is hidden behind a combination lock, the numbers denoting… well, Jesse keeps that very close to his chest. There is enough of the fuel source stashed away for two lifetimes’ worth of straight travel.

The engine room is hot thanks to the burning aether; the only time he spends in here is to add more aether to the boiler, carry his wares from his workshop above or when passing through to exit the boat. He makes his way past the boiler to the other side of the room and through another locked door requiring another key, ‘cause you can't have too much security, before descending down the ramp.

“Why, hello there,” Jesse starts, extending his arms out to his sides, warm smile on his face. “Jesse McCree.” Jesse holds out his gloved hand to the man in the middle, who takes his hand and shakes it enthusiastically. Jesse glances at the two men standing on either side of him, easily a head taller with hands clasped in front of them. Young and fit; his security detail.

He turns his attention back to the man in the middle. “So you must be Shimazu-san.” The balding man is dressed in a dark grey kimono with white obi and white tabi. The security detail behind him were dressed the same but in all black.

“Yes,” he replies, bowing formally. Jesse reciprocates. When standing at full height, Shimazu-san continues, “Hello, Mr. McCree. We thank you for coming all of this way. It must have been a long journey.”

“It was nothing,” Jesse smiles. The trip from America took ten days, and while these long journeys send Jesse a little crazy, is he is successful then it’ll be worth it. “Thank you kindly for the invitation. I’ve wanted to introduce my fine wares to your people for a while now, and I do appreciate your assistance.” Jesse looks past the three men and off in the distance, the busy street leading from the pier is lined with stalls. The smell of food carrying on the faint breeze draws him in.

Shimazu-san follows Jesse’s gaze before turning his attention back. “You are free to take a look around. We have organised accommodation for you—”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay on my boat,” Jesse says, gesturing behind him with his gloved thumb.

Shimazu-san bows his head and smiles, “Of course.” He stands to the side and extends his arm. “Please, allow me to show you around.”

“Thank you kindly, Shimazu-san.” Jesse bows his head and walks along the pier towards the street, Shimazu-san walks by his side and his security follow behind.

Jesse eyes the stalls as he walks past them. He had attempted to properly learn Japanese for the visit, even though he knows a handful of phrases, names for items and clothing and whatnot, a few cuss words thanks to his apprentice. He is able to recognise a few characters, though he can speak and understand the language much better than he can read it. Fortunately for him, Shimazu-san can speak and write fairly decent English.

Shimazu-san was the only person with power who responded to him when he first reached out to showcase his wares. They have been corresponding by mail for two months, organising the big presentation. He was eager to have Jesse, and Jesse was more than eager to expand his reach of the world.

Jesse stops at one of the food stalls, the owner is grilling chicken on top of hot coals; the look and smell is truly mouth-watering. His stomach rumbles, which is fair considering he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. There is only so much corn meal bread he can eat before it gets tiresome.

“Ah, yakitori,” Shimazu-san informs him, “a good choice.” He addresses the stall handler in Japanese, who hurriedly places four skewers of chicken on to a piece of tissue paper and hands them to him. He extends his hand to pay, but Jesse places his hand on top of his.

“Allow me,” Jesse offers. He reaches into his vest pocket and hands the man a gold coin. “Keep it.”

The man looks at Shimazu-san, who translates Jesse’s words. He bows profusely, bringing his hands together in front of his chest, thanking him. Jesse tips his hat and continues on, grabbing a skewer and giving it a smell.

“That was very generous of you. You paid the man ten times what the food cost.”

“It was nothin’,” Jesse drawls, “I’m a generous man.” He takes a bite as he walks, nodding as he chews; the familiar flavours hit the spot; he has found himself craving Japanese food since first tasting it all those months ago.

With the food stalls now behind them, the linen stalls adorn the streets. Fine silks, linens and kimonos decorate them, the call of women enticing customers to buy their silks carried over the crowd.

He notices the same image on all of the stalls: a dragon chasing a dragon in an infinite loop. He studies it for a moment and calls back on his knowledge regarding the workings of Clans in Japan, surmising that it’s the emblem of the clan in control of this area. He hasn’t seen the symbol before today, and looking at the crowd, he cannot see anyone out of the ordinary, no one watching from the distance. Reclusive, perhaps?

Jesse notes his appearance amongst the Japanese people. He stands at least half a head taller than the tallest person he’s seen, and he hasn’t seen anyone who was dressed in Western attire. Occasionally he hears people call his name and bow, Jesse offers a smile and a hat tip, leaving them giggling. It inflates his ego something fierce.

“It seems people know who you are,” Shimazu-san states. “You have quite the reputation.”

“Indeed I do,” Jesse drawls. He looks down at his mechanical arm and flexes his fingers – his first invention; even though his current prosthetic is an upgrade from the original. He wouldn’t be where he is now if he hadn’t lost it; much as he didn’t realise that at the time.

Unsatisfied with the wooden mock arm given to him at the hospital, he built himself a functional prosthetic. Using the aether to power it, that propelled him into the spotlight. With aether already established in railways across America and Europe, he soon discovered that prosthetics was an untapped market. He spent years building prosthetics for folks far and wide and in his spare time, he moved into artificial intelligence, building Bastion for company. He has been asked on several occasions to build another artificial intelligence, but has turned them all down as he doesn’t want to be a bringer of war. His other inventions have filled out his time recently and has found that his inventions made specifically for Japan are starting to take the world by storm; all of which are of course powered by aether.

Jesse considers himself wise for his thirty two years on this Earth. He chuckles as he turns his hand over; his original bronze plated arm was replaced with a more streamlined titanium version after a special order from Japan coincidently, three years ago.

“This is where you will give your demonstration tomorrow.” Shimazu-san points to the large empty stall containing two tables, and then at the platform set up next to it.

“Perfect,” Jesse breathes, walking up to the platform and standing on it. He thinks about his demonstration, imagining kids begging their parents for his latest inventions, his name on everyone’s lips, their money in his pockets. Enough to retire on, if he so wished.

He looks at the flier on the stall, bringing a smile to his face. It is a hand drawn portrait of himself with hiragana characters beside it. Excitement building in his belly, he rubs his hands together, turning to face Shimazu-san. “All right, I’ll have Bas help me carry my wares in the mornin’.”

“Very well. We have prepared a banquet for you this evening and I must help prepare. Ito-san,” Shimazu-san calls over his guard with a simple wave of his hand, he steps forward and bows, “will escort you wherever you please. He is my personal security.”

Jesse nods and tips his hat. “Until tonight, then!”

Shimazu-san bows and hurries off with his other guard. Jesse looks at Ito-san, who bows his head in acknowledgement. Wondering what he wants to do with his spare time, Jesse looks around, settling on a pagoda in the distance. Deer are grazing on the grass in front of it and children are feeding them.

With a smile, approaches the pagoda, seeing a man selling food for the deer. An older gentleman, Jesse pays the man a gold coin, and given how many stacks of the small crackers he was handed, it was apparently a generous amount. With more food than he knows what to do with, he hands the small stacks out to the children, the deer crowding around them.

The last stack of food he keeps for himself. He approaches a deer which has a baby by its side. The larger deer bows its head and Jesse crouches down, reaching out to pat it gently as the baby nuzzles up against him. He feeds the both of them, then tries in vain to stop them licking his hands when all the food is gone. With a silent chuckle, he gives the baby a pat before the larger deer wanders off. The baby chases after it, and the two of them lie down under the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

Jesse stands up and dusts his hands together. He explores the five story pagoda, bright orange in colour with black tiling on each tier, before heading back to the stalls to browse through the linens again. The temptation to buy a kimono for himself is growing; something, perhaps, he will indulge in before he leaves.

Getting late in the afternoon, he is escorted to Shimazu-san’s private residence for dinner.

* * *

Wiping the mirror with a towel, Jesse looks at his reflection and brings a hand up to his face, rubbing at the dark stubble on his cheeks. The sink in front of him fills with warm water as he prepares his shaving soap, using a brush to apply it to his face.

He yawns as he closes the taps, glancing at the clock in his chambers, reading eight o’clock. Though not an ungodly hour of the morning, it is earlier than Jesse would normally get up. Perhaps he should have made himself a cup of coffee to have with his bath.

Sighing, he picks up the straight razor. Bringing it up to his cheek, he gently applies pressure, shaving with the grain in one smooth motion. He dips the blade in the water and wipes it on a towel before continuing on.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls…” he says to his reflection. He frowns and shakes his head. “Nah, I sound like a ringmaster,” he mutters, making another downward motion on his cheek. “Kind people of Edo…” He trails off, smiling. “Yeah, that’s much better.” He rinses the blade in the sink, wiping it and bringing it up to his jaw line. “Thank you for your generous hospitality.” He cuts down his neck. “With help from one of your own, I have only the best inventions.” He rinses the blade and dries it on the towel. “I bring you the latest in children’s toys.” Making  the final cut, he places the blade down and rinses another towel under hot water. “Then I’ll show ‘em the toys.” He places the towel over his face for a moment, closing his eyes and nodding in approval as he repeats the speech in his mind, this time in Japanese.

Just as he pulls the towel off his face, he is greeted with a body pressed against his, a hand pulling his head back, and the straight razor up to his neck, resting on his throat. Jesse holds his hands up, and for a brief moment thanks his lucky stars that he wrapped the towel around his waist after his bath. He licks his lips, his mouth is suddenly dry. “Easy there, friend. I ain’t goin’ to hurt you,” Jesse says calmly, his eyes glance to Peacekeeper resting next to the sink.

“Try it, and it will be your last move,” the man says, applying gentle pressure with the blade. Any more and Jesse will have a nice cut.

Jesse considers himself a good judge of character; able to determine how threatening someone is just by looking at them. He looks at the man through the mirror, analysing what he can see:

The man is Japanese and speaks impressive English, a slight accent present; suggesting he is educated.

He is shorter than Jesse, if the angle of his head against Jesse’s shoulder is anything to go by. Jesse has height on him.

He has a beard, Jesse can feel it prickling on his back. It’s fucking itchy _._

He has a tattoo on his left arm. Jesse can’t see how far up his arm it goes, but it’s definitely past his elbow at least. The design is of a dragon, the head on his wrist and its body appears to coil around his arm. He knows this style of tattoo, and it implies that this man is in fact a member of a clan—perhaps the same clan in charge of this area. Jesse narrows his eyes; the ink appears to shimmer a lighter blue. He blinks rapidly; he has to be imagining it _._

Jesse looks at his own arms in front of him; the hairs are standing on end. He feels a shiver down his spine and he is reminded of those times when he used to play outside during a thunderstorm when he was a kid.

He looks back at the man, noting the thumb, index finger and middle finger on his right hand are gloved, and he has an armoured brace on the wrist of the arm holding the blade to his neck. He appears to be no stranger to combat.

His right arm is sleeved and he is dressed in black silk. Expensive silk, given how soft it is against Jesse’s skin. The man clearly also comes from money. Jesse can’t tell what kind of attire he is wearing though, he’s never seen anything that is sleeveless one on side.

 _Educated, comes from money, trained soldier. He’s dangerous. Be careful, McCree_.

Jesse takes a breath before speaking, nice and calm, not wanting to scare the man. “You got a name there, friend? I’m Jesse Mc—”

“I know who you are!” the man spits. “There was a man under your employ. Suzume Genji. Tell me about him.”

“Genji?” Jesse parrots. The man pulls Jesse’s head back further, almost causing him to lose his balance. He holds Jesse in place, and though he is shorter, he is clearly stronger than him, too. Jesse gets the message in any case: talk or die. “Yeah, Genji… He was an apprentice of mine. I picked him up in Osaka near on eight months ago and stayed on my boat for six of ‘em. I dropped him back where I found him. Haven’t seen him since.” Jesse swallows nervously, watching his adam’s apple bob ridiculously close to the blade. “What do you want with Genji?”

“He is my brother. He is missing and I have been tasked to find him.” The man loosens his grip and pulls the blade away from Jesse’s neck. Jesse eyes Peacekeeper again, but slowly turns around to face the man, keeping his hands up all the same.

Jesse leans against the sink, taking a deep breath. He looks the man up and down. Hair pulled back tight in a top-knot, dressed traditionally, but with the left arm and chest exposed, bow slung over his shoulder, titanium prosthetics from the knee-down…

“Damnation,” Jesse groans, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing his temples. “A great deal of folks have asked for my prosthetics and I remember every one of them. There has been only one order I’ve taken from East Asia. You’re a Shimada.” _A damned Shimada!_

The man narrows his eyes. “You know of my family?”

“Of fucking course I know your family! Everyone knows your family!” Jesse turns around, facing the mirror and looking at his reflection, noting his flushed face before bracing himself on the porcelain sink.

While complete anonymity was used when Jesse was making the prosthetics, a set of hiragana characters was consistent with every letter sent. Over time, curiosity got the better of him and he made an attempt to decipher it, revealing the word ‘Shimada’. Double checking the translation in any case, Jesse figured it was a name and he did the research, what little there was about them. If the stories were true, tales told amongst the more affluent members of society, the reclusive Shimadas are remorseless assassins who can summon and control dragons, while their reach extends across much of Japan. He’s reminded of the dragon emblem he saw on the stalls, and now it all makes perfect fucking sense. He scolds himself for not making the connection earlier.

He eyes off Peacekeeper, working out the odds of killing the man and getting out alive. If the rumours do happen to be true—not that Jesse believes them in the slightest—and the Shimada summons one of those things… zero. The odds were zero. He has to do what the Shimada wants, otherwise he’s a goner. Jesse shakes his head, tries to keep the anger in his gut at bay.

“So Genji,” Jesse grounds out, ensuring his voice is level and calm, “he’s a Shimada too?”

“He is,” the Shimada grunts.

 _That little shit!_ Jesse had a fucking Shimada on his boat for six fucking months, right under his nose. He huffs and turns to face the Shimada. “All right,” he sighs, feeling like he has absolutely no other option than to cooperate. “You got a first name?”

The Shimada purses his lips, eyes flitting to Peacekeeper then back at Jesse. “Hanzo.”

“All right, Hanzo,” Jesse says as calm as he can, which honestly, is barely. He can hear the frustration tinge his words. “What’s this got to do with me?”

“This was delivered to our residence.” Hanzo reaches into the pouch on his obi, pulls out a bronze cube and places it on the floor. He pushes on the top and it opens up into a bronze mechanical spider, eight legs unfold from the centre before it picks itself up and skitters across the floor, the small gears clank together as it moves. It crawls up Jesse’s body before it settles on the palm of his outstretched hand.

“Well, I know Genji’s handiwork when I see it,” he mutters, watching the small paper ribbon on its body turn, revealing a message. The first thing that catches his eye is his name, which is written in English; the rest is written in hiragana, moving too fast for him to decipher. “Friend, you’re going to have to translate that for me.”

_“Brother. This is a gift for your children. Contact Jesse McCree if you would like more.”_

Jesse looks at Hanzo blankly. “I’ve got crates full of ‘em. That’s what I’m here to sell.” He points down the corridor. _The shit could have waited for the presentation_ , he thinks to himself as he folds his arms across his chest. “You can help yourself. So I ask again, what’s this got to do with me?”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, like it was a stupid question to have asked, before he looks at the spider. “That is a coded message. I do not have children.”

Jesse frowns. “Oh…” He thinks about what Genji could mean, trying to filter through the thousands of thoughts flashing in his mind at once. He is too stressed; there is too much adrenaline coursing through his veins to think clearly, and it’s too damn early in the morning to be dealing with this without coffee. “I’m sorry that Genji is missing, but I don’t know how I can help.”

“Genji has asked for your help. So you will help. You obviously know the power my family carries.” As soon as those words are spoken, Hanzo’s dark eyes glow a bright blue, as blue as aquamarines. The dragon on his tattoo glows the same blue and rises off his skin, hissing as splits in two and snakes around. Lightning arcs from his arm, making contact with the various metals in the room.

Jesse holds up his hands and swallows the lump in his throat. He never did believe those silly stories about dragons, though now he’s been proven wrong. Just another thing he can add to the mental list he’s keeping, listing the things he thought were not possible. “All right, all right. Calm down, friend.” Jesse watches as the dragons settle back down into the tattoo before fading into the usual dark blue ink and Hanzo’s eyes return to normal. “Just let me put on my robe and I’ll see what I’ve got in my workshop.”

Hanzo nods, and Jesse sidesteps out of the ensuite and into the bedroom, intent on not taking his eyes off the intruder. He glances into the open wardrobe, grabbing the royal red robe off a hanger. He slips it on and wraps it around his torso, before tying the belt into a tight knot. He is intent on not showing off any _more_ skin than he already has.

He slips on his work boots, grabs his keys from his tailcoat and takes a couple of back steps to the door, nervous about turning his back on the Shimada. He takes a deep breath before turning and walking to his workshop. Filtering through the keys, he unlocks the door and it opens with a creak. For the first time in however long it’s creaked, he’s completely mindful of it and sounds like it is creaking at a volume one hundred times louder than normal. He _really_ needs to oil that.

Stepping through the doorway, he looks at the mess of twisted metal and wood of various size and colour on the benches, the metal filings on the floor, and the grease on the back of his work stool—he will have to make sure he doesn’t sit down.

“Take a seat if you wish,” he smirks cheekily, gesturing to the seat as he makes his way to the crates packed high in the corner. He picks one up, turning on his heel and bumping into the Shimada, jumping from the fright. “Damn… you move quietly for someone with metal feet.”

“If you could hear me coming, then I would be a poor assassin,” Hanzo says, practically gloating at the fact as he takes a step back, clasping his hands behind him.

Jesse shakes his head as he places the crate down on an empty patch of workbench. The man is clearly full of himself. “All right,” Jesse starts, opening the crate, “in here I’ve got more of those spiders Genji made.” He plucks four cubes out and places them on the bench.

He moves the crate to the floor by the door and grabs the second crate, setting it on the workbench. “In here is somethin’ more to your liking.” Hanzo scoffs, but he ignores it. Genji had mentioned his brother would like this. He pulls a love heart shaped piece of bronze metal, about the size of his fist, out of the crate. He holds it in his palm as he presses the top. With clinks of gears it unfolds, wings spreading, a head appearing from the centre and feet from the bottom.

Jesse smirks, sideways glancing to an open mouthed Shimada, who closes his mouth and stands up straight, pulling his shoulders back upon realising Jesse was looking at him. “This was also one of Genji’s inventions. Hell, the stuff I’m showin’ off today is all Genji’s handiwork,” he says, watching the small bird tilt its head and peck at his finger.

“It is remarkably lifelike,” the Shimada says, voice monotone. He is obviously intent on keeping his approval hidden.

“I’m goin’ t’take that as a compliment,” Jesse drawls, placing the bird down. He puts that crate on top of the first and grabs a final crate. “This one will track the ocean,” Jesse says, plucking out a bronze cylinder. Pressing the top and with the same clinking of gears, it unrolls and inverts into a bronze koi with patchy copper scales.

“A nishikigoi? Why?” The Shimada asks, irritation in his voice.

“It’ll look for submersibles,” Jesse answers, as he walks over to the workbench behind him, grabbing his controller and extending the antenna. He glances at Hanzo, whose brow is furrowed. “Underwater transport. If Genji made his way on my boat, there’s a chance he could have made his way on one of them.”

“I was unaware such a thing existed,” the Shimada acknowledges, walking behind Jesse to take a closer look at the bird, poking at its chest with his finger.

“Haven’t been to the West, have you?” Jesse asks, turning the dial on the controller and pointing it at the koi before flicking a switch, causing it to flick it caudal fin back and forth and extend its pectoral fins.

“I have not been outside Japan,” Hanzo mutters, standing behind Jesse and looking over his shoulder.

“Well, now. I would have thought a skilful assassin such as yourself would have seen plenty of the world,” Jesse says, condescension thick on his voice. He pushes a button on the controller, and the koi’s black eyes glow blue for a moment before returning to black. Jesse picks it up, twisting the ventral fin and it curls up on itself, back into the cylinder.

“I have spent much of my adult life by my father’s side, overseeing his work, dispatching his enemies…” he trails off, tilting his head to the side slightly and closing his eyes before standing up straight and bringing his hands to his sides, “…keeping an eye on my brother.”

“Well,” Jesse says tightly, “it seems you failed there.”

“I am not his shadow!” the Shimada growls.

Jesse turns and holds his hands in front of him. “Hey now, easy there,” he says, speaking slowly and calmly like talking to a wild animal, because for all intents and purposes, this man might as well _be_ a wild animal given his volatile temperament. Jesse hopes it doesn’t come across as condescending; he ain’t in the mood for dealing with a dragon or two.

Hanzo turns around and draws his shoulders back. He lays his balled fists against his thighs before opening his hands, taking a series of slow, deep breaths. It seems the man _is_ capable of not letting his anger run rampant.

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly as he turns back around, picking up the controller and moves onto programming the sparrow. Just like with the koi, he turns the dial and flicks the switch, watching as the mechanical bird flaps its wings.

“Will it fly?” Hanzo asks calmly, standing beside Jesse once more.

“Yes, she will,” Jesse smirks, pushing the button on the controller, the black eyes glowing blue before returning to black, “and she’ll be able to fly close enough to check the airships in the skies.” Jesse watches the bird as it tilts its head from side to side. He gives Hanzo a chance to respond, to have a conversation about shared technologies, but doesn’t say anything. Jesse is unsure if he is disinterested, or perhaps doesn’t want to divulge any information with a foreigner. As the silence grows, he tries a different approach. “Y’know, Genji told me a bit about his life. How he was called Sparrow by his father and brother.”

Hanzo scoffs. “Did he tell you that he despises that name?”

“That’s not what he told me.” Jesse quirks an eyebrow. He waits for Hanzo to respond, but is met with silence. He pushes the button on the bird’s chest, and it folds back into the heart.

“What else has my brother told you?”

“He did say his brother was a bit of a cock,” Jesse chuckles. He sees Hanzo tense at the statement. “But he did also add that he looks up to his brother, and that he couldn’t do what he does. Run the family business and such.”

“Anything else?”

“Naw, just that,” Jesse says, moving onto the spider and programming it as he did with the koi and bird. “You tryin’ to work out if I know too much information about your family?”

After a few moments of silence, Hanzo asks, “What is it you are doing?”

“I’m programming the machines to search for your brother. He built himself a small dragon—” Jesse inhales sharply. The clues were there, God damnit! He sighs, continuing, “It’s bronze and copper. He wanted it to be one of a kind which is why I haven’t got crates full of ‘em. The machines will communicate with the dragon, tell us where he is. I’ll program four of each, should be enough to cover Japan. We’ll know in a few hours if he’s here or not.” Jesse scoffs, the sudden realisation dawns on him. “This is what he meant when he said I could help look for him.”

Before Jesse can even blink, he is met with an arm around his neck, held in a choke hold. “You knew that you could help me, yet you stalled until I revealed my intentions?” the Shimada growls. It seems that earlier conclusion that he could keep a lid on his anger is completely wrong.

“I’m not in the business of helpin’ those who make their way on my boat uninvited and hold a straight razor up to my neck,” Jesse croaks. He huffs a laugh, he’s always quick on his feet with remarks.

Hanzo tenses up for a moment, causing Jesse to gasp for breath. The claws of panic burrow deep in the pit of his stomach, but Hanzo lets go and pushes him forward into the bench before it can overrun him.

Jesse reaches for his throat, gasping for air. “You’ve got quite the temper on you… You know that?” He takes a series of deep breaths, the panic fades away. “You should work on it…” Jesse trails off, taking a final deep breath and smirking, testing his luck further, “You come across as quite the cock.”

The Shimada inhales sharply. “Are we done here?”

Jesse looks at him, then at the crates by the door. “Yeah, the spiders will track the ground, the sparrows the air and the koi the sea. Like I said, we won’t know for a few hours.”

“Very well.”

Jesse reaches into the crate of koi, grabbing three more and placing them on the bench. “So are you goin’ to watch my presentation?” Jesse smirks. He is greeted with silence, and when he looks up, the room is empty. He shakes his head. “Gee, thank you so much for helpin’ find my brother, Mr. McCree. I sure am mighty grateful,” he says aloud sardonically. “Bet I fuckin’ won’t get a reward for my help either,” he mumbles to himself.

 _“Is everything OK, Jesse?”_ Bastion asks from the doorway.

“Oh, _now_ you come down to check on me?” Jesse rolls his eyes. “Did you not see the heir to the Shimada clan board the boat?”

_“That… He said he had an appointment with you.”_

“Damnation, Bastion! If I had an appointment I would have told you!”

_“It would not be the first time you have had ‘an appointment’ without my knowledge.”_

“Oh, don’t you dare use that against me,” Jesse seethes, pointing a finger at the automaton. Catching his own anger, he closes his eyes and takes a breath. Bastion is right; Jesse had arranged people to come on board previously without Bas’ knowledge. He shakes his head and opens his eyes. “Look, just next time, if someone comes down here and you know nothin’ about it, please check. You might find my corpse in my bathroom one day.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

_“Did he threaten you, Jesse?”_

“Yeah,” Jesse sighs, leaning on his palms on the bench. “He’s asked us to find his brother. Remember Genji?”

_“Genji is a Shimada?”_

“That he is, my fellow Bastion. Genji’s gone missing, and he asked for my help specifically. So we’re helpin’.” Jesse grabs the sparrow, activating it and handing it to Bastion. “Here, send her off. The sooner we find him the sooner we can be done with these damned Shimadas.” Bastion takes the bird in his hands, holding it like he does Gany. He whistles and turns to walk away.

“Oh, and Bas?” The automaton’s body turns in place. Jesse closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs heavily. This is too much information for him to process this early in the morning without coffee. He knows though that doesn’t have much choice in the matter, just like working out the odds of grabbing Peacekeeper and killing the Shimada, there is nothing he can do now except help him.

Then, and only then, if Jesse is lucky, he will escape with his life.

He opens his eyes and looks at the automaton. “When the Shimada returns, please don’t kill him. He’s our guest now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **History Alert** :  
> The Edo Period is the period in Japanese history between 1609 and 1868. The country was under the rule of the Tokugawa shogunate, and the period was known for its economic growth, the implementation of social classes and a strict foreign policy. Called 'sakoku', trade was limited to only China and Korea, almost all foreigners were banned from entering Japan and its citizens were forbidden to leave.
> 
> In 1853, Japanese borders were practically forced open to American and Western trade. The Tokugawa shogunate were heavily against this, and over time the shogunate was overthrown and 1868, Japan entered a new era; the Meiji Restoration. Being set in 1865, this fic will highlight the imbalance of old Japan keeping their values versus new Japan, being open to the rest of the world. 
> 
> In 1868, Edo was renamed Tokyo. As such Edo will be used throughout the fic.
> 
> In the mid 19th century, specifically during the Victorian Era, women covered up and never showed their legs in public, even in the height of summer. As such the word 'leg' was considered taboo, instead people used the word 'limb'. Given Jesse's travels, the word limb is something he picked up and he uses. Leg and limb will be used interchangeably, and with regards to this fic, limb exclusively refers to leg.


	2. Simply Insufferable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going into this chapter, just know that during the Edo period, Japan told time differently to the West. More info in the end notes.

The warm morning sun shines down; the cool gentle breeze carries the hints of several blooming trees, filling the air with a subtle sweet fragrance. A pair of wagtails chirp in the old Somei Yoshino tree, hopping from branch to branch. A courtship dance, an intricate display of ruffled plumage and fanned out tail from the male, eager to impress his mate.

The female, however, shows little interest and ignores his display; more intent on hunting insects. She flies away and into another tree to continue her hunt, leaving the male with bruised pride. He shrinks down, looks at her in the distance, sharpens his beak on the branch before he flying after her; determined to impress her.

Hanzo scoffs and shakes his head at the display above him. Arms folded across his chest, he leans against the tree on his bare arm, the bark underneath is cool and rough against his skin.

Close to the end of the blooming period, the white petals from the tree are starting to fall, only exacerbated by the earlier dance. Hanzo brushes a petal from his shoulder while watching another fall into his field of view, following as it tumbles and turns on itself as it slowly falls to the ground.

He takes a breath and narrows his eyes, looking in the distance. The fool McCree and his elaborate mechanical man are carrying crates of trinkets from his boat to his stand, ready for his performance when the bell towers ring nine times; when the sun is at its highest in the sky.

Hanzo shakes his head. The thought of spending any time with him makes his skin crawl. Coupled with the task of finding his idiot brother, the entire affair is beneath him. He is an assassin; trained for years in stealth, armed now with a bow and wakizashi, and well practiced in the use of a katana. 

This, though? Forced to work with the American. Forced to find wherever his brother is when he has better things to do with his time. He huffs, the simple fact that Genji got in trouble, requiring rescue like a damsel, should be enough to commit seppuku. It was a dishonour to himself otherwise. A dishonour to the clan. A dishonour to the name Shimada. 

But Genji is the  _ favourite _ son; the thought makes Hanzo roll his eyes. The one who can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants—all without consequence. It infuriates Hanzo that Genji is allowed to act like a child and get away with it. It shows weakness on his father’s part for allowing it so. 

Hanzo sighs and looks at the large crowds gathering in front of the American’s stand. Idiots for becoming infatuated with Western trinkets. Needlessly big and bulky. Not smooth and streamlined…

He glances at his feet and brings a hand down to the top of his knee. For a brief moment, he allows himself the thought;  _ if it were not for that fool, I would not have legs. _

For Hanzo, losing his legs was a dishonour worthy of death. A death, however, he was not granted; not by the hands that took them, not by the hands of his father, and he was too much of a coward to use his own hands. The thought of fake replacements, to be clearly seen as a cripple, a mockery of a man fuelled his anger and self-loathing. 

He looks back at the American—Jesse McCree—the man who essentially saved his life, not only giving him legs, but giving him something he no one else had: Augmentations.

His legs were more than mere replacements. They allowed him to climb walls with ease, jump from a great height without sustaining injury, leap great distances and run at a speed he would otherwise be unable to.

For a moment, he is grateful. Then, he shakes his head, correcting the thought;  _ if I were not the heir to the Shimada clan I would not have legs.  _

The bells ring out nine times, and Hanzo folds his arms back over his chest. He watches as the American takes position on the pedestal, outstretches his arms and introduces himself. 

Ignoring his silly introduction, Hanzo instead critiques the American’s appearance. His choice in clothing is extremely gaudy, from the black hat atop his head and then the large red coat. Then there is the bright yellow waistcoat, and then the shirt underneath that. He notices how tight his trousers are around his thighs and shakes his head, wondering how he can possibly feel comfortable wearing such restrictive clothing.

Hanzo stands up straight and rolls his left shoulder, eyes drawn back to the American’s chest. The thought of plucking an arrow from his quiver, nocking the arrow and drawing while dressed like  _ that _ flashes in his mind. He can practically feel the tightness across his chest.

A gasp from the crowd catches Hanzo’s attention. Genji’s inventions – the mechanical spider that informed him Genji was in trouble. The mechanical sparrow which McCree sent out to search the air for airships. The mechanical koi which were sent into the ocean to search for submersibles are all on display. Hanzo sighs. At least the American is resourceful. With his trinkets, they will be able to locate Genji with ease and haste. Then Hanzo can get back to doing what he does best: Hunting and killing.

The crowd gathered around McCree erupts in applause. People wave their hands above their heads, desperate to part with their coin for these toys. Hanzo rolls his eyes and looks at McCree, noting the ridiculous smile on his face. “You are nothing but a fraud,” Hanzo mutters to himself. “You could not even come up with an idea; you had to use someone else’s.” He narrows his eyes. “I wonder how many more of your inventions are truly yours?”

A rain of petals showers Hanzo, pulling him from his thoughts. He reaches for the wakizashi tucked into his obi; hand wrapped around the hilt as he checks the cause of the disturbance with his peripheral vision. A white dove is perched on a branch, tilting its head at him and cooing happily. He recognises the bird; it is the same bird he had seen with the mechanical man on McCree’s boat. He looks over at McCree, who first waves and then gestures him over, using his whole arm to make the gestures. Apparently along with his clothing, he intends for his actions to be loud also. 

Hanzo narrows his eyes, loosens his grip on the blade and dusts himself off from the stray petals. He waits by the tree as the crowd started to thin; he is too regal to stand amongst the commoners. 

He smirks at his presence; the power of his image alone is enough to drive fear into people. They notice him and hurry on, stealing glances and shielding their children, telling them not to stare. He looks at the irezumi on his arm, his most distinguishing feature he believes. He eyes the dragon’s maw on his wrist, following its body as it coils around his arm. Something he proudly displays by wearing his kyudo-gi everywhere. The ink is a badge of honour; something that should not be hidden away under clothing. 

Hanzo thinks about how the clan will be feared once he is leader, how he would see their—no,  his—enemies crushed beneath his feet or driven away. The clan would encapsulate all of Japan, and would not heed to Western influences; as it had been for centuries before.

One thing stands in the way of that, however. His father.

He is drawn from his thoughts by the sound of a loud whistle. He looks at the source; McCree has both his index fingers in his mouth. He shrugs, shoulders bouncing high, before waving his whole arm once more.

Hanzo takes in a sudden, sharp breath; white hot anger courses through his veins.  _ This _ is how the American decides to get his attention? To call him over like he were a dog? Does he not realise  _ who _ he is calling over? Does he not realise the power Hanzo carries within him? Perhaps his display in the bathroom earlier was not enough to convince the American of his power.

He can feel the dragons under his skin, twisting and coiling in response to his anger. His skin prickles as the usual dark ink on his arm shimmers a bright blue. Hanzo closes his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly to soothe them. Now is neither the time nor place to let his anger show.

The prickling sensation fades away and he opens his eyes, looking at the dragon’s maw; dark and still on his skin. He turns his attention back to McCree, watching the last remaining people lingering around him, and only once he is alone and packing up does Hanzo walk over to him.

“So, how’d I do?” McCree asks, wide smile on his face as Hanzo approaches.

Hanzo shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. “I was not paying attention.” 

“Pah.” McCree shakes his head, turning around to pack the last of his trinkets in a crate.

Hanzo’s attention is drawn to the mechanical man when he makes a series of noises. Whistles, perhaps? Hanzo is at a loss to describe the sound. But the way the mechanical man looks at McCree, then at Hanzo and back to McCree, and the way McCree is looking at him, Hanzo deduces it is talking.

When the mechanical man finally stops making his noises, McCree laughs and shakes his head. 

“No, Bas. It’s fine.”

Hanzo furrows his brow. “What did he say?”

“Ah…” McCree trails off, looking at the mechanical man, then back at Hanzo. “Just askin’ if I should ask you if you’d like to help us carry the crates back to the boat.”

More noise from the mechanical man. He is shaking its head like it is disagreeing with McCree's statement. Hanzo narrows his eyes at the American, “I do not believe you.”

McCree throws the mechanical man a look; his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as he flicks his head in the direction of the boat. The mechanical man throws his hands up in apparent surrender before he grabs three crates stacked on top of each other and walks away. He looks at Hanzo as he lumbers away, even keeping his head and torso facing Hanzo as he walks forwards. Not at all intimidated by the mechanical man’s stare down, Hanzo folds his arms across his chest and stands up straight, pointing his chin out. That is when the mechanical man turns his torso and faces forward.

“Don’t mind Bas, he just… he’s protective,” McCree explains. “And from what I hear, you already met him.”

“I did. He did not speak like that,” Hanzo says, eyes still trained on the mechanical man. 

“He knows basic English. But prefers to speak in his beeps and whirrs,” McCree chuckles. He looks at Hanzo, pointing at his head. “Uh… Friend… You’ve got a…” McCree shifts his hand, now pointing a finger to his own head.

Hanzo reaches up, looking at McCree for reference. He plucks a petal off his head, rolling in between thumb and forefinger before flicking it to the ground. He looks back at Jesse, giving a curt grunt and nod.

“You’re welcome,” McCree mutters sarcastically, turning around and grabbing another crate.

Hanzo rolls his eyes and sighs. He should not have to take this attitude from the American. Though, he knows the time he is required to spend with him might go smoother if there is no tension between them. Not that he has plans to spend any  _ more  _ time with him than required.

“Thank you,” Hanzo mumbles. He glances at the mechanical man climbing the ramp of the boat before looking at Jesse. “So you can understand these…” Hanzo trails off. He decides against entertaining the American further with his strange words. “Noises from the mechanical man?”

“’Course I can, I built him,” McCree admits, thrusting a crate into Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo huffs, grabbing it from the bottom. McCree smirks and picks up the last crate, making his way towards the pier. 

Hanzo watches him walk away and towards his boat. He looks down at the crate in his hands and has the thought to drop it, slink away, go back to his father and tell him that Genji is gone; just so he could be done with the American and this futile task of finding his brother.

But the niggling thought in the back of his mind—that he  _ owes _ Genji his life—keeps him grounded.

McCree looks over his shoulder before turning around, looking back at Hanzo, frowning. “You comin’?” he yells, “we have to see if we’ve had any hits on Genji’s location.”

Shaking his head slowly, Hanzo walks up to McCree and falls into step beside him. The walk back to the boat is spent in silence, something Hanzo is thankful for, because of course the American is loud in volume too. The less he is seen in public, under the scrutinising eyes of the general population, the happier he will be.

Hanzo analyses the boat as they approach. Larger than it looks, the exterior appears to be made from cast iron, bronze and copper. It has two large chimneys and a large steam paddle on the side. He deduces there would be another on the other side, allowing propulsion. He nods in somewhat approval; the metals used in their natural state are more aesthetically pleasing than the reds and blues that the other boats are painted in.

They proceed up the ramp and into the engine room. Stunned, Hanzo allows a moment to take in his surrounds, the eerie violet glow from the single furnace, the otherwise clean room, benches wrapped around it but empty, save for the chest by the door on the other end of the room.

McCree places the crate on a bench held up by a chain, and relieves Hanzo of his, placing that on top. He pulls a lever and the crates are hoisted above them; the sound of metal clinking fills the silent engine room. 

“What powers your boat?” Hanzo asks, looking at the furnace.

“A proprietary source of fuel. Been in the McCree family for generations. It’s what powers the toys, Bastion,” McCree points to Hanzo’s prosthetics, “your limbs and my arm.” He wiggles his metal fingers.

“I assume it is not dangerous, then?”

“You assume correctly,” McCree, looking at the platform as it clicks into place above them. After a moment, it lowers empty, and the cavity left behind is covered with a cast iron plate, settling in place with a click. “It’s a less concentrated form of the fuel, hence the blue glow instead of purple.”

McCree proceeds to the other end of the engine room, opening the door and gesturing Hanzo through. “Just continue up the ladder,” McCree points at the shaft.

Hanzo nods, climbing up the ladder and stepping off onto the deck. He eyes the mechanical man, before turning his attention back to McCree as he stands on the deck. 

“Right, come on,” McCree mutters, tilting his head and proceeding down the second ladder. Hanzo follows, down the ladder and into the hallway before finally reaching McCree’s workshop. The American is looking at a display on his workbench; a stationary map of Japan surrounded by purple, blinking dots which appear to  _ move _ ? “What is this?” Hanzo asks quizzically.

“It’s a radar. See these purple dots,” McCree points at the twelve dots spanning all across Japan and the four surrounding the coast. “They’re the machines I sent to look for Genji. If Genji were present, he would appear as a blue dot. Unfortunately it seems he is not in Japan.” McCree sighs, bringing a hand up to his chin, scratching it slowly in thought.

Hanzo inhales and exhales slowly. So it seems his appointment with the American will be continuing, much to his annoyance. “I must report this to my father,” Hanzo says eventually. “I will assume he will order me back here to continue the search.”

“I would assume he would, too.” McCree places the display on the bench, crosses his arms over his chest and looks at Hanzo. “Once I’ve finished here, I was actually goin’ back home and America seems like a good place to start next. Genji mentioned somethin’ about wantin’ to visit there if he got the chance.” 

“I will inform my father.” Hanzo takes a deep breath, dread laced in his voice as he says, “I will return tomorrow morning,” before turning to walk away.

“Hanzo,” McCree calls. Hanzo looks back, frowning at him. “You might want to bring somethin’ not so… formal to wear.” He pauses for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip before shaking his head. “I just want to make sure we don’t stand out any more than we have to.”

Hanzo looks down at his kyudo-gi and hakama. So now the American is dictating what he can wear? He shakes his head, annoyance thick in his voice as he says, “I do not have anything Western to wear, nor will I wear anything of the like.”

“Do you think you could bring somethin’ that covers your chest, then?” McCree points and stares at his bare pectoral.

Hanzo huffs. “I require my arm to be free if I am required to use my bow. I will not put myself in jeopardy by wearing something restrictive.”

“So you seriously spend every waking moment with your…” McCree points at his left pectoral with a gloved finger, “…out?”

“I must be ready at all times. I either wear my kyudo-gi or nothing at all,” Hanzo explains. An exaggeration, he wears kimonos when not training or on assignments.

McCree shakes his head, his gaze on Hanzo’s chest lingering as he smirks. “So what do you do in winter?”

“I am not deterred by winter,” Hanzo says matter-of-fact, drawing his shoulders back.

McCree laughs, a whole body laugh as he practically doubles over, slapping his knee. Hanzo bites his tongue to stop himself from saying something highly inappropriate and walking away. After what seems like an eternity, the American shakes his head, smile wide on his face as he stands up straight. “All right, then. I’ll wait here for your return,” Jesse says with a bow of his head.

Hanzo narrows his eyes, trying to read the American. Is he mocking him? Hanzo closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to berate further. It will be painless if he just walks away. He opens his eyes, bows his head and leaves the boat.

Avoiding the gathering of people along the stalls, Hanzo walks back to the stables, taking a path along the river. Enjoying the solitude, the sound of the gentle stream beside him, he uses it as a means to keep himself grounded as he thinks about how he will possibly be able to handle being in McCree’s company in such cramped conditions. Hanzo plans on spending as little time with him as possible, and as long as the American keeps to himself, he will be moderately at ease.

He spots the stables in the clearing and his horse, a black Nambu, is tacked up and ready to go. He gives the horse a gentle pat on her grey muzzle, and a brief wave of sorrow washes through him. A gift presented to him on his fifth birthday, the horse is now twenty-seven and does not have much time left. She has been a loyal companion, and he has only ridden her on short expeditions in recent times. He shakes his head, letting the sadness pass as he checks over the saddle and reins before nodding to the stable hand, under the employ of the clan, mounting the horse and leaving in full gallop.

The Shimada clan’s reach extends far throughout Japan, as far north as Iwate and as west as Osaka; territory obtained over the centuries, tearing down rival Clans along the way. Spreading west, into Kyoto and Osaka, was his father’s work, the stepping stones established by his grandfather. Overthrowing the Satomi clan and claiming the territory as his own, Shimada Sojiro was a formidable leader, a force to be reckoned with. 

If the tales he told of the battles were true.

Now in his older years, Shimada Sojiro stays hidden behind his desk, writing his victories for history and ordering others to do what he commands. Allowing Genji to run rampant. Stalling on pushing the Clan further west.

When Hanzo obtains command as leader of the clan, he will not hide behind a desk. He will not die of old age. He will not wither away and become soft. An honourable death is what he yearns for.

He pulls on the reins of his horse; her galloping slows to a trot as he approaches the gates to the castle. The large wooden gate with the clan symbol carved into it greets him, two dragons chasing each other, an imposing warning for other clans to stay away. 

He dismounts the horse, leading her in by the reigns. He is greeted by a stable hand, who bows before extending a hand for the reigns. Hanzo hands them over, dusting his chest and thighs with his hands before walking towards the temple.

His father is sitting in seiza in front of the shrine; the smell of sandalwood incense fills the room. Hanzo kneels next to him, mirroring his father. He closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders, resting his hands palm-up on his thighs.

“You come alone,” his father says after a moment. Hanzo glances at him; he is still facing forward, eyes closed.

“Yes.” Hanzo looks forward once more and closes his eyes again. “The American is resourceful. We have discovered Genji is not in Japan.”

“A troublesome thought,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern.

“The American said that Genji had shown interest in going to America. He is going there next.”

“America is a big country. I expect you will be gone for a while.”

Hanzo grimaces at the statement. It was not unexpected, but he supposes a part of him was hoping his father would not send him off. He takes a breath, an attempt to keep his annoyance down. “How long must I search for him?”

“Until you find him, Hanzo.” There is a pause, and when the silence stretches Hanzo looks at his father, and his father is looking back at him. “Genji is my son. He is your brother. You may not approve of his decisions but we cannot leave him out there. You owe him that much, Hanzo, after what he did for you.”

Hanzo swallows his pride and nods. He turns his attention back to the shrine and closes his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, taking the time to meditate and calm his anger. 

His father was not wrong; he did owe it to Genji to find him. It was Genji, after all, who saved him from the failed assassination attempt that saw him removed of his legs. As much as Hanzo begged and pleaded for death, Genji carried him back into Shimada territory. 

Genji saved his life, and now he must save Genji’s. 

He inhales and exhales slowly once more and the anger simmers away. “What if I do not find him?”

His father sighs heavily. “We will cross that bridge when we get to it.” He stands up, snuffing the array of candles on the shrine with a candle extinguisher before placing it back down and bowing. He turns to Hanzo, walking towards him. “Come, I have something to show you.”

Hanzo nods, standing up and following his father into his den. His father stands in front of his desk, cluttered with scrolls, inkwells and quills. He takes a deep breath, grabbing something off the table before turning around. “This was delivered this morning.” In his hands was Genji’s hitai-ate, a smear of dried blood on it. 

“He has been captured, then,” Hanzo muses. He extends his hands, taking the forehead protector and inspects it closely. More blood is present on the fabric of the underside, the fabric is stiffened and is rough underneath his thumb. He flips it back over and scratches a bit of blood off the armoured side with his fingernail. 

“Whoever has him has injured him.” His father’s voice was heavy with anger, something Hanzo has not heard in many years. Hanzo can feel the heat radiating off his body, something he has not experienced in as long. “And they are taunting us.”

“Whoever has him knows who he is. They know who we are,” Hanzo says calmly, not wanting to escalate the situation. “If Genji did not –”

“It is of no matter anymore, Hanzo! They have him and I will see them pay for what they have done!” He slams his fist on the table, smoke rising from the contact. His eyes glow red, his kimono burns away as the dragon lifts off his chest, bathed in orange-red flames and fire in its eyes. It hisses, sending embers pouring from its mouth and onto the floor; fading and extinguishing on contact.

For the first time, Hanzo  _ sees  _ the man who was in the stories he heard. The terrifying, fearsome leader; large and imposing and threatening. The man who led the clan into the reaches of Osaka and Kyoto with the power of his dragon. Seeing the dragon is something Hanzo has wanted for most of his life—proof that he was in control of one and that the irezumi on his chest was not just ink. Looking at the dragon now, Hanzo’s skepticism is replaced with fear.

His father closes his eyes, and the dragon settles back down on his chest with a final hiss, back in its red irezumi form, roaring as it snakes over his torso. What is left of his kimono is charred and smouldering.

Hanzo stands up straight. He owes it to Genji to find him, he reminds himself. “I will find him, Father,” he says, handing back the forehead protector.

His father looks down at the armour, feeling it in between his fingers before placing a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Thank you, my son. I knew I could trust you with this task.”

Hanzo bows his head, looking from the armour to his father. “The American leaves tomorrow morning.”

“Do you trust him?”

Hanzo frowns, thinking about McCree for a moment. How, even though he was threatened, McCree offered more assistance than he thought possible. “He has not shown distrust,” Hanzo admits. He pauses, taking a breath, features easing into a small smile. “It is peculiar that he is the man who created my prosthetics. He was not what I expected.” 

In Hanzo’s mind, he expected someone much older, someone serious, like a Professor at a University. Not a young, somewhat charming man, albeit with a grating personality. He closes his eyes and nods, trying not to sound too ungrateful as he says, “I do believe I owe him gratitude.”

His father nods. “Jesse McCree is a man of many talents, Hanzo. That is why Genji spent those months with him.” He takes a breath, nodding again, “You must be aware of the world around you. Many good things are happening beyond Japan.” He pauses, smiling, “It will be good for you to see it.”

Hanzo takes a deep breath and nods. “I will not disappoint you, Father.” He bows, then walks out of the den and to his bed chambers, closing the shoji screen behind him. He approaches the window on the opposite side of the room, looking at the view of the courtyard below, glancing between the blooming trees and the bell tower; contemplating his future with the American. 

Taking a deep breath, Hanzo brings his hands up to his face and rubs his temples. The thought of enduring more of the American for an unknown amount of time frustrates him, and he can practically feel the pounding headache already. He wonders if his father would ever put an end to the search if Genji could not be found.

He thinks about his father, how much anger was in his voice, in his words, in his actions. How in that moment Hanzo felt genuine fear, how the always still dragon, frozen in red irezumi lifted off his chest, fire in its eyes. It was as terrifying as he had imagined.

Hanzo shakes his head. His father is not as weak as he was led to believe.

Sighing, he turns around and exits his chambers. He walks the hallways of the castle until he is outside, descending the stairwell off the balcony. He walks through the main grounds, the afternoon sun shines down and is warm on his skin; the cobblestones are littered with fallen petals from the blossoming trees.

His destination is the bell tower, where a single lone figure is standing. Cloak draped over their shoulders and hood over their head, they stand overlooking the view of the town below and Fujisan in the distance. Hanzo stands next to them, looking at the town. He waits for them to speak first.

“You leave on a journey, then?” they croak, voice harsh as if their throat was full of dirt.

“Yes. To find Genji,” Hanzo sighs. 

“Your father put on quite the display in his den.”

Hanzo looks at the clan elder. Their skin is dull and paper thin; the map blue and purple veins are clearly visible underneath. Their eyes are cloudy, milky and sunken into their skull. They appear almost skeletal; a product of centuries of devotion to the clan. 

A life immortal. 

There are eight elders in the clan, and they were all present at the clan’s conception. Hanzo’s direct descendent was the leader; the powerful Shimada Hiromitsu. Fed up with being treated as an outcast, being segregated from society, and not being recognised as a citizen purely because he was born outside of Japan’s newly created caste system, he led the assault and took control of Hanamura with his dragon, raining ice and snow upon his enemies in the height of summer. 

Under the advice of his most trusted subjects, priests with immense power to imbue dragons on a subject, Shimada Hiromitsu granted them eternal life, eternal servitude to the clan, for without them he would not have gained the power he so sorely desired. Though, while the elders may have been granted eternal life, they were not granted eternal youth.

Hanzo shudders at their appearance now; they were prominent in his nightmares as a child, being chased by them, getting caught and turning into one of them. He shakes his head and looks at Fujisan. “I have not seen him like that in person. He is quite imposing.”

“He used to be. The stories were not  _ just _ stories, Hanzo.” The elder turns, facing him. Hanzo draws in a breath. “Now, though. He is a shadow of his former self; intent on allowing your brother to gallivant the world, getting himself into trouble and captured. Now you have to rescue him. A waste of resources and talent!” they hiss. They look Hanzo up and down, calm demeanour returning. “The plan is in place. We will act on your command.”

Hanzo closes his eyes. The plan is to murder his father so he can assume leader of the clan, by the insistence of the clan elders. The same elders who groomed him into the remorseless assassin he is today. The same elders who insisted his father was too weak to continue running the clan.

The same elders who planted the seeds for the murder plot. 

He shakes his head, looking at the elder. “No. I will return Genji to him.” He pauses.  _ Your father is weak. Western influences are scum and have no place in Japanese society. Genji is a burden, unworthy of the name Shimada. _

These thoughts are the elders’ thoughts; not his own. It is as if a fog has lifted in his mind, and for the first time, he allows himself his own thoughts:  _ Father is not as weak as I was led to believe. These Western influences are enabling me to find Genji. Genji is not a burden. Shimada Genji is my brother, and he saved me from death. It is a debt which must be repaid _ . 

Hanzo looks back at Fujisan. “We shall grant him a final moment of happiness before we proceed.”

The elder turns back to the view of the town below. “Very well. We will await your return.”

* * *

Hanzo stands on the pier, looking at the boat.  _ This  _ is his home for however long it takes to find Genji. He hefts the kate-bukuro over his shoulder; the bag contains a spare kyudo-gi and hakama, two kimonos and spare arrowheads, bamboo and feathers. Constructing arrows will fill in his time. 

It also carries Genji’s hitai-ate, cleaned from his blood. Hanzo would see it returned to him when he is found.

With his bow slung over his other shoulder and quiver strapped to his back, he reluctantly approaches the boat. The ramp descends with a series of chinks as the metal plates slide into place before hitting the pier with a thud. After a moment, McCree appears from the top of the ramp, arms outstretched and dressed in his ridiculous restrictive clothing. Today his vest is the brightest possible shade of red and he is absent his coat; though it seems he will not go anywhere without his hat.

“Good mornin’ Mr. Shimada. Ready to set sail?”

Hanzo inhales and exhales slowly. He has been in the presence of the American for a few seconds and he is already getting on his nerves. This would be a difficult journey, indeed. He rolls his shoulders and continues his approach. “Yes,” he grunts.

“Excellent.” McCree claps his hands and rubs them together. He points to the bag over Hanzo’s shoulder. “Travel light, I see.”

“I live a minimalist lifestyle. I do not own material possessions,” Hanzo bites back.

“Nothin’ to keep you company on lonely nights?” He looks Hanzo up and down, licking his lips. “Not that I’d expect you t’be alone most nights.”

Hanzo closes his eyes. This will be very difficult. The situation can be described in two words: simply insufferable. He takes a breath, an attempt to keep a level head. “I meditate.”

McCree chuckles. “Of course you do. Well if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **History Alert!** [This is how time was told in Edo Period Japan.](https://chaari.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/telling-time-in-early-modern-japan/) The number of rings didn’t specify time like in Western society, but rather ‘periods’, indicating dawn/dusk, early- and mid- mid morning/afternoon and then midday/midnight. This of course changed with the seasons - longer daylight hours during summer had more bells, and less during winter. Basically, instead of summarising myself, I’ll just copy the summary from the article: “Six bells is always sunrise or sunset, nine bells is always noon or midnight, the bells count down from nine to four, and then jump to nine again… Five bells (五つ時) is the early morning or the early evening, four bells (四ツの時分) is late morning or late evening, and then we jump back up to nine bells for the time around noon, or midnight. Eight bells is either early afternoon, or very early morning (i.e. the hours after midnight), seven bells is either late afternoon (approaching dusk) or the hours approaching dawn.”
> 
> And what Bastion said to McCree after his presentation: “I do not like the look of him, Jesse. Are you sure you do not want me to dispatch him now?”


	3. Keeping Plenty Occupied

“Well, this is your room,” Jesse says, stepping inside the bedroom and outstretching an arm for Hanzo to join him. “I hope it’s to your liking.” 

The room is modest. There is a queen size canopy bed on one wall, two small windows, a desk and a plush chair with navy blue velvet that sits under it, and a freestanding mirror next to the wardrobe.

Hanzo steps through, looking around the room. “It will do,” he murmurs, placing his bag on the bed before shouldering off his quiver and bow, placing them on the floor by the mirror.

“Good, ‘cause it’s all I’ve got,” Jesse chuckles. “If you’ll follow me,” Jesse gestures back out, pointing to the room opposite. “This is another bedroom. Empty, but it used to be Genji’s, so he’ll feel right at home when we find him.” He points to the room next to the empty bedroom next. “Kitchen’s in there. Got a good selection of tea I picked up from the stalls yesterday and we’re stocked with food for the journey back to America.” He looks at the sake gourd on Hanzo’s obi, smiling. “I also picked up some sake. Help yourself to anything.”

Hanzo looks at Jesse and bows his head. “You are very accommodating.”

“Jus’ want you t’feel at home,” Jesse drawls, shifting his weight to his heels and placing his thumbs through his belt loops. “We didn’t exactly have the best introduction.”

Hanzo offers a small smile. “I did hold a blade up to your throat.”

Jesse chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. So the Shimada can smile. Apologise, however, was something it seems he doesn’t do. “Sure did. But that’s in the past,” Jesse brushes off. Forgive, but not necessarily forget. 

After a beat of silence, Jesse continues his tour of the boat before it turns into one of them horrid awkward silences. He points to the room next to Hanzo’s, saying, “Bathroom’s in there.” Jesse walks up, opening the door and letting it swing open gently. “It’s got a bath, basin, mirror, toilet. Eveythin’ you need,” Jesse lists, looking from the porcelain clawfoot tub, the porcelain basin with brass taps, the mirror anchored to the wall above it, and the toilet in the corner. “Hot and cold water, too, thanks to the aether.”

Hanzo nods, eyes fixated on the toilet. The toilet itself is a porcelain bowl underneath a large wooden seat, somewhat similar to a crate sitting atop the bowl. Before Jesse employed anyone from the East, he made a point to amend the toilet to accommodate Eastern toilet etiquette. Genji had no complaints about it, so he figures it’s enough.

“And of course you know the next room over as my workshop. I’ll try not to be too loud in there.”

Hanzo looks at the door to the workshop then to Jesse. “It is fine. Please do not amend your schedule for me.”

Jesse looks at Hanzo up and down, eyes settling on the head of the dragon on his wrist. He is truly an enigma. Just yesterday he was threatening to kill him with his dragons, and today he’s telling him not to alter his schedule? Jesse’s eyes slowly follow the dragon’s body up his arm, settling on the dragon’s tail on his bare pectoral. This journey will prove difficult. Hanzo is certainly very easy on the eyes, and if he walks around in just his kyudo-gi, staring is going to become a bad habit.

His eyes snap back at Hanzo’s, before following his gaze to the room at the end of the hall; his chambers. Jesse looks at his room, wondering what Hanzo was thinking. If he was having the same thought of joining him in bed, his hands running up and down his body—

Hanzo clears his throat, snapping Jesse back to reality. He looks at his workshop door. “Oh… I’ve… got workshop space below deck too, so if I plan on doing anything excessively loud, I can head on down there.” Jesse looks back to his chambers. “My room, well, you’ve seen that. If the door’s open, come on in. Otherwise, I’ll either be in the workshop or on deck.”

“Very well,” Hanzo says softly and nods.

“And finally, this room is the recreation room,” Jesse opens the door to a table sitting in the middle of the room, green felt top with four oak wood chairs around it. “Good for card games.” He points to the mahogany bar on the left of the room, shelves behind it full of alcohol and whiskey tumblers, two wooden bar stools in front of it. “Like I said, help yourself to anythin’.”

Hanzo nods once more, slowly, brow furrowed in confusion and eyes looking at the square piano in the right corner of the room.

“That’s a square piano. Have you played before?”

Brow still furrowed, Hanzo looks at Jesse and asks, “It is a musical instrument?”

“Sure is,” Jesse says, walking up to it. He taps on the ivory keys, alternating the middle E and F notes.

Hanzo’s frown eases into a small smile, looking from the piano to Jesse. “I have not heard this kind of instrument before.”

“If you’re interested, I can show you how to play,” Jesse offers. “I’m no expert, but I can play a decent tune.”

Smile faltering, Hanzo straightens his posture. “I do not wish to impose.” He looks back at the bar.  

Jesse narrows his eyes, wondering just what it was he was thinking about now. He looks at the bar, imagining the two of them laughing and sharing a drink. Then, Jesse teaching Hanzo how to play, standing behind him, leaning over him to get his finger placements right, their hands clasped together as Hanzo turns to face him, only an inch of air between them as they close the gap— 

Jesse blinks rapidly, bringing himself back to reality before his thoughts run too wild. “Care to join me above deck? We’ll be settin’ sail in about…” Jesse trails off, grabbing his pocket watch out of the vest pocket on his waist, “…thirty minutes.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I wish to get settled in my chambers,” Hanzo says as he takes a step back towards the doorway.

“No problem,” Jesse smiles somewhat awkwardly as he tips his hat. “I’ll, uh, see you ‘round, then.”

Bowing his head, Hanzo walks back to his room and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

Jesse stares at the closed door for a moment, taken aback by Hanzo’s behaviour during the tour and how it contrasted to the encounter of yesterday. While he supposes it is a good thing that the man didn’t threaten him with his dragon again, he’s still wary of him. 

With a shrug, he walks to the end of the corridor and into his bed chambers. He closes the door behind him; leaning against it and resting his head back gently as he looks up at the ceiling. “Oh, it’s goin’ to be a long ten days,” Jesse muters. From the tension between them, and the fact Hanzo doesn’t cover up, he will need to find a distraction to keep him occupied.

He almost wishes Hanzo would dress modestly. “Would save me my dignity,” he mumbles, trying to ignore the tightness in his pants. “The man held a razor up to your neck just yesterday, he’s not going to be into you.” He steps forward, walking to his mirror to check his appearance. He shakes his head, only to realise he had done that just ten minutes before. 

Jesse could be quite vain sometimes.

Grabbing his black tailcoat off the hook of the coat rack, Jesse slips his arms through and shoulders it on. He smooths it over his chest before winking at his reflection and heading back to the door, making sure to lock it behind him. He will need to make sure he locked it at night too; he didn’t need Hanzo sneaking in again. 

Much as he wouldn’t object to it.

He scolds himself for his wild thoughts. The first time in months, possibly a year or depressingly even longer, he has physical contact with a person—who threatened him with a blade to his neck—and he finds himself thinking with his cock. 

Shaking his head as he approaches the ladder shaft, he pushes the thought of Hanzo’s body pressed against his out of his mind as he climbs up, stopping at the closed hatch to pull the small lever on the wall, opening the hatch to the deck. The sound of pitter-pattering on his hat alerts him that the grey skies have finally burst their banks, and rain is starting to fall. Nothing too heavy for the moment, and hopefully it will stay that way. 

He approaches Bastion, standing at the wheel of the boat. The canopy is open, enough to cover the controls and shelter the automaton, and himself, from the rain. “Hey, Bas. How’re we lookin’?”

_ “Very good, Jesse. We should be ready to set sail when you are ready.” _

“Perfect, Bas. When we’re out on open water and the course to California is set, make sure you come down so I can perform some maintenance.” He looks out towards the stalls extending beyond the pier; while the awnings offered some cover from the rain, the thin crowd of people were sheltered under black umbrellas. Made from a lacquered paper as he discovered yesterday, they were not dissimilar to his own Napoleon blue silken umbrella which he purchased in Paris. Looking at the sky as the rain intensifies slightly, Jesse’s now wishing he had grabbed his umbrella from his chambers too. 

With an exasperated sigh, he glances at Bastion and is reminded of his earlier train of thought about performing that maintenance. “That should keep my mind plenty occupied for the next ten days.” He looks back at the stalls once more.

_ “That seems like an odd detail to mention, Jesse.” _

Jesse nods. Yes, keeping busy will stop him from thinking about their guest and his bare pectoral. “Yeah, plenty occupied,” Jesse mutters. He looks back at Bastion. “I’m going t’miss bein’ here, Bas,” he drawls. “I quite like these Japanese folk.”

_ “All of them? Or just the one below deck?” _

Jesse chuckles, slapping his hand on the automaton’s large bronze shoulder. “Ah, I made you too smart for your own good, Bas.” He looks back at the pier, seeing Shimazu-san, under the shelter of an orange umbrella held by one of his security, approaching. “All right, once we’re done with this meeting, we’ll be ready to set sail.” Jesse takes his leave, heading down the ladder, through the engine room then down the ramp. 

“Shimazu-san, good morning,” Jesse smiles, tipping his hat.

“Good morning, McCree-san.” He bows and when he stands to full height he adds, “It is a shame the weather is not lovely this morning.”

“It’s a good thing my presentation was yesterday morning,” Jesse says, glancing up at the grey sky momentarily. “I would imagine the turn out wouldn’t have been as large as it was.” 

“No, potentially not,” Shimazu-san nods in agreeance. “When shall we expect your return?”

“That, my friend, I cannot tell you,” Jesse sighs, shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ve been called on other business, but once it is complete, I will be returning to Japan. But be sure to know that I will be making plenty more of my trinkets, and I will be replying to every one of those correspondences I gathered yesterday while I am on my travels.”

“Excellent,” Shimazu-san chuckles. “Your aether is highly sought after, especially in the locomotive industry.”

“As it is everywhere else in the world,” Jesse smiles confidently. “I’m finally glad to have brought it to Japan.”

“And we are glad that you have brought it here.” Shimazu-san set his eyes on the boat. “I must say, your boat is unlike anything I have seen before. It is a thing of beauty.”

Jesse grins, glancing at his boat, then back at Shimazu-san. “Thank you kindly, Shimazu-san. She certainly is quite beautiful.”

Shimazu-san smiles and nods. “Yes. Well, safe travels.” He bows again.

Jesse bows before standing to full height and tipping his hat. “’Till we meet again.” 

With a nod, Shimazu-san and his security guards turn around and walk away. 

Jesse turns on his heel and hurriedly walks back to his boat and up the ramp, eager to not get any more wet than he already is. When he reaches the top, he takes one last look around, eyeing the cherry blossom trees, the stalls of food and linens and finally Ganymede who is flying back to the boat from a nearby tree. He takes a breath, flicking the lever beside the door to withdraw the ramp.

The ramp withdraws one panel after another, the gears underneath turn and the plates clank together until they are under the deck of the boat. Jesse closes the door, turning the large wheel to lock it in place. He heads through the engine room and back up the ladder onto the deck, quickly jogging under the canopy for shelter; the rain has intensified further, pitter-pattering loudly on the canopy.

“All right, Bas, we’re ready to go.”

The automaton works the controls in front of him and the gears slowly come to life, clanking together loudly. The large paddles on either side of the boat propel it backwards, far enough so Bastion can turn the boat. They take their slow approach through the channel, past the cherry blossoms that welcomed them two days ago.

When Jesse finally has enough of the sound of the gears clanking, he turns to Bastion, yelling over the noise, “I’ll be down below if you need me,” before heading back down the ladder towards his chambers to change into his work clothes. While he has no real intention to do any hard labour for the rest of the day, they are much more comfortable to wear around. Even though he loves the times he gets the opportunity to wear his dress clothes, and he especially loves the way they hug his figure, his work clothes, which consist of nothing more than a pair of overalls and a flannel shirt, are much more comfortable and not a pain in the ass to clean if they get dirty.

* * *

Jesse sifts flour, cornmeal and a pinch of salt into a bowl, adding eggs and milk until the batter is smooth. He pours the mixture into a tin and places it in the oven. Taking a seat at the small table, back pressed to the wall behind him, one elbow on the table and one on the back of the chair, he blows his steaming black coffee and takes a sip.

The day has been spent in the workshop building a new clock for his bed chambers; a pet project that he gets around to working on when he has the time. And while time is something he has plenty of right now, the distraction it offers is the more important factor.

Not that he has seen Hanzo since they set sail eight hours ago. He has been locked in his room, apparently intent on keeping to himself. Though to be fair, Jesse has been locked up in his workshop for the entire time. He did, however, have the door open, wanting to keep an ear on Hanzo’s movements and to be inviting if he had a question.

Jesse chuckles to himself, thinking about the day before, how Hanzo managed to sneak up on him. Even with the door open, Jesse realises that he wouldn’t hear Hanzo, even if he  _ was _ listening out for him.

Jesse thrums his metal fingers on the table and takes another sip of coffee. He stretches his neck from side to side and rolls his right shoulder, wincing at the dull ache between his shoulder blades. God, he is looking forward to a long soak in the tub after dinner. He has spent too long hunched over that damned clock. He had skipped lunch too, only coming out from the workshop for coffee or to relieve himself.

Resting his head against the wall, he closes his eyes and solidifies his decision; a soak and a good book to keep him company is definitely on the agenda after dinner. Then it would be nine days until they reached America.

Jesse glances at the oven, leaning forward to pull down the door to check the batter bread. Still not done, he shuts the door and sits back in his seat. He closes his eyes as the delicious smell of baking bread fills the small space. 

Suddenly realising he is starving, Jesse stands up and opens a cupboard above the benchtop, grabbing a jar of strawberry jam which he picked up while in London not too long ago. He plucks a knife from the drawer, tapping it in his hands absently as he leans against the benchtop, crossing his legs at the ankles. He looks out of the kitchen, eyes fixating on the door of Hanzo’s bed chambers. He wonders if Hanzo will come out and have something to eat, or will wait until Jesse has retreated back to his own chambers.

Jesse takes another sip of coffee, stretching his neck from side to side again before rolling his shoulders and slumping slightly. He looks back at the oven, checking the batter bread again and finally it’s a nice golden brown. Reaching in, he grabs the tin with his metal hand and transfers it to the wooden bread cutting board on the countertop in one quick movement. While his prosthetic can handle the heat, he has no plans to test the limit of its capabilities.

Extinguishing the aether under the stove with the snuffer he made himself, just an iron dish with a long cast iron handle, and after a few moments of impatient waiting, he grabs a dish towel for his flesh hand and picks up the tin, turning the batter bread over. It slides out onto the cutting board, Jesse blindly places the tin on the stove to cool as he grabs the knife, cutting himself two thick slices before spreading on a generous amount of strawberry jam.

He takes a quick large bite, humming and chewing like it’s his first meal in days. He leans against the bench, relaxing slightly as he eats. He finishes the first slice in another two bites before he cuts himself a third and spread on jam. Grabbing both slices, he walks over to the table to take a seat.

He perks up when he hears Hanzo’s door open, followed by the slight shuffle of footsteps approaching the kitchen; Jesse wonders if he is intentionally making his presence known. When Hanzo peers into the kitchen, a part of Jesse is disappointed, Hanzo is wearing a black kimono with gold trims coming down both of his arms and covering that magnificent pectoral. “Help yourself,” Jesse extends his arm to the loaf sitting on the benchtop.

Hanzo walks up to the counter, looking at the loaf. “You prepared this?”

“That I did,” Jesse drawls, taking another bite. “I’m a man of many talents,” he says around his food. When Hanzo scoffs and shakes his head, Jesse narrows his eyes, wondering if he should be offended. “There a problem?” he asks after swallowing.

“No,” Hanzo replies with the shake of his head as he grabs the knife to cut a slice. “I am just reminded of something my father said to me yesterday.” He picks up the jam jar, gives it a smell and shrugs before spreading the jam. 

Jesse looks on somewhat surprised; he hadn’t thought Hanzo would be the adventurous type. Realising a long silence has developed and seeking clarification on Hanzo’s statement, he asks, “Care to share?”

Hanzo turns around, leaning on the counter. “No.” 

Jesse looks at him, and then turns in his seat, back pressed against the back of the chair and his attention to the table, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. “Care to sit?”

“No,” Hanzo says flatly, taking a bite. 

“Okay then _ ,” _ Jesse mumbles to himself, finishing his second slice. Along with being a difficult journey, it seems it would prove to be awkward too, and he  _ hates _ awkward. He taps his fingers on the table, filling the kitchen with noise, anything to combat the uncomfortable silence. Something he never needed to do when Genji was on board. “Y’know,” Jesse starts, now moving on to conversation, “Genji would at least  _ sit _ at the table.”

“I am not Genji!” Hanzo bites back immediately, anger evident in his voice.

Jesse scratches his forehead. So he’s touchy about being compared to his brother. “No, you most certainly are not,” Jesse mumbles. He turns to face Hanzo, back leaning against the wall before crossing his ankle over his thigh. “Look,” he says softly, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I’m not going to bite you.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes, the only acknowledgement of the statement he gives.

Jesse shakes his head. If he were a betting man, he would bet that Hanzo is playing hard to get. The thought makes him grin as he grabs his mug to take a sip of coffee, but like a fool he completely misses his mouth and it spills it down his overalls. “Son of a bitch…” he mutters, reaching for the dish towel sitting on the table to wipe the front of his overalls.

He stands up, glancing at Hanzo. The prick is smiling, and when their eyes meet, he puts his hand over his mouth to stifle laughter. Jesse shakes his head, placing his mug in the sink and storming out of the kitchen. He stops in the hallway, thinking about pulling him up on his rude behaviour, but decides against it, walking to his bed chambers and slamming the door behind him.

“So you’re one of those ‘take pleasure in other people’s pain’ bastards then,” Jesse growls as he turns the taps on his bath. “I should probably be lucky you ain’t got a personality. Makes it easier to not fall for you.”

* * *

“He smiled, Bas. A God damned, honest to God smile. And stifled laughter. Didn’t even try to hide it!” Jesse wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He and Bastion are in the second workshop and Bastion’s living space when he is not above deck. With its proximity to the engine room, this workspace gets incredibly warm.

_ “To be fair, Jesse, I probably would have laughed too.” _

“Good thing I didn’t program you to laugh then,” Jesse says sardonically, wiping away grease from the connecting joint between Bastion’s hand and his arm with a towel. He drapes the towel over his shoulder absently as he narrows his eyes to get a proper look at the joint before blowing on it. “All right…” he breathes, connecting the hand to the arm, twisting it in place with a click before the inner cogs and gears clank into place.

Bastion wiggles the fingers on his hand.  _ “All good, Jesse.” _

“Good. Now…” Jesse reaches for the gun on the bench, looking at the muzzle, then the large copper barrel, turning it in his hands and feeling its weight; it’s got quite the heft to it.

Bastion’s gun arm is something equipped when in ports; Jesse uses as a warning to anyone who may think about sneaking onto the boat. Not that it did anything to deter Hanzo in the first instance. During travel, Bastion has two hands that allow him to tinker around in the workshop. Jesse glances at the bronze and copper flowers decorating Gany’s corner of the space with a smile; a permanent garden for the bird.

Bastion had complained that his gun arm felt off, and was unsure if it would actually fire if required. Considering he hasn’t had to use it yet,  _ that _ was a good thing, and Jesse suspects the gears just need regreasing or realigning.

Jesse turns his attention to the joint of the gun, picking up a thin paint brush off the workbench to grease up the gears. “In all seriousness though, it’s a good thing that coffee wasn’t hot. I was in my overalls. If it  _ was  _ hot, it would’ve been the second time in three days he would’ve seen me in near nothin’.”

_ “Near nothing?” _

“Yeah.” Jesse grabs the towel, wiping away excess grease before slinging it over his shoulder again. “When he got the jump on me, I was just in my towel.”

_ “It is a good thing you had the towel around your waist to begin with. You are not normally that modest.” _

Jesse laughs. A true statement, Jesse is not one to be so modest. He looks up at Bas, grin on his face. “Remind me again why I built you?”

_ “Because your sensitive little ears cannot handle the sound on the bridge.” _

“Noise that loud for long periods ain’t good for your ears, Bas,” Jesse mutters. He blows on the component, giving it one more look over before connecting the gun to Bastion’s other arm at the elbow with a twist and click. The cogs connect and clink as the gun barrel illuminates a soft blue from the aether. “All right, we should be good to give it a test. See you up top.”

Jesse stands up and Bastion walks to the platform. Ganymede, who was asleep in his nest in the corner of the room, files to perch on the automaton’s shoulder. Once Bastion is on the platform, only large enough for his form, Jesse pulls the lever by the platform, activating the pulley system; the sound chinking metal fills the space from the chains being fed into gears as the platform ascends to the top of the deck. 

Taking the ladder to the top deck, Jesse chuckles to himself, thinking back to when he found Ganymede; just a chick abandoned by his mother. Jesse nursed the albino dove back to health, built him a nest and used an early prototype of Bastion’s head for company. Ganymede imprinted on Bastion and has been by his side ever since. Jesse shakes his head in disbelief upon realising that was four years ago. Now, the two of them are inseparable; the only time Ganymede is away from Bastion is when he flies around to stretch his wings on long haul journeys.

He meets Bastion at the stern of the boat, standing beside him. The midday sun shines down and is warm on Jesse’s shoulders. Taking a deep breath as the sea air fills his lungs, he scolds himself for spending too long inside the boat as he exhales. Taking a moment for himself, he looks to the horizon, where blue sky meets blue ocean and reminds himself he’s fortunate to have the life he has.

The sound of the gears clanking loudly behind Jesse drag him back to reality. With a sigh, he holds out his finger in front of Ganymede, who perches on and Jesse brings him close to his chest. “You don’t want to be near him right now, sweetness,” he says gently as he gives the bird a kiss on the head. “Whenever you’re ready, Bas,” Jesse says before taking several steps back.

Bastion looks at Jesse and waits for a final nod before he turns back to the horizon and fires the gun. Bullet casings fall on the deck as the gun fires, twenty five in all before the ammunition is spent in a manner of seconds. The sound of the gun is only slightly louder than the gears themselves, and it seems the gun is working as it should. Jesse watches the last casing bounce on the cast iron deck before rolling to a stop against the railing. 

Jesse walks back to Bastion, looking at the casings on the deck then at his arm. “How’s that feel?”

_ “Good, Jesse. Much better than before.” _

“Well it seems we fixed whatever it was that was bugging you.” 

_ “Indeed.” _ Bastion turns his body to the port of the boat and whistles. Jesse follows his gaze seeing Hanzo is ascend the ladder.

Jesse places Ganymede on Bastion’s shoulder and turns around, meeting Hanzo half way. “Sorry, I hope we didn’t interrupt you.”

“No, not at all.” He looks at the bullet casings on the deck, toeing one for a moment before glancing at Bastion. “What was it you were doing?”

Jesse looks back at Bastion. “We were just testin’ his gun. He was sayin’ that somethin’ felt off about it.” Jesse shrugs, looking back at Hanzo. “Probably just a misaligned gear.”

Hanzo hums and nods. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Uhh…” Jesse frowns, wondering what Hanzo could possibly want to talk to him about. He’s had plenty of opportunity before now, and given the urgency of this, it has Jesse a mite concerned. “Sure,” he continues, trying to hide the reluctance in his tone. “What’s on your mind?”

“In private,” Hanzo says, glancing again at Bastion.

Jesse looks back at Bastion, then back to Hanzo and nods. “All right.” He walks up to Bastion, placing a hand on the automaton’s shoulder as he says, “Hey Bas, I’ll meet you back in the workshop in a few, all right? We still have to reattach your hand.” Jesse claps Bastion on the shoulder and the automaton responds with a whistle before walking to the platform, staring down Hanzo and not breaking eye contact until he disappears back in the belly of the boat.

Jesse sighs and looks at Hanzo.  _ Now or never, _ he tells himself, rubbing his hands together and approaching Hanzo. “So what can I do for you?”

From his obi, Hanzo unties a piece of armour. He holds it in his hands gingerly as he caresses the metal with his thumb. It is small, made of iron and cloth, pointed in the middle and has two decorative indents on either side. Jesse instantly recognises it, and his suspicions are confirmed when Hanzo tells him, “This is Genji’s.”

“Sure is,” Jesse says, swallowing the lump in his throat as he holds out his hand and takes it from Hanzo. “He wore this when he was here, never took the thing off.” Up close, he recognises a new scratch on the right side of the armour that wasn’t there previously. The dread in the pit of his stomach grows as he turns it over, noting the blood caked in the fabric on the underside. “His blood?”

“We believe so,” Hanzo says softly. “It was delivered to my residence yesterday morning.”

Turning the armour back over, he takes a good look at the scratch, grazing at it lightly with his thumbnail and noting it is a deep scratch, though not deep enough to have penetrated through the armour. “So you think he’s been captured and this is warning?” he asks, looking at Hanzo.

Hanzo nods. “Yes.”

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly. Genji is an adventurer, someone who gets in places he shouldn’t. He never got in any trouble before, but now it seems to have caught up to him. “He didn’t utter the name Shimada when he was with me. So whoever has him must know who he is.”

Hanzo’s rigid posture relaxes at the statement. “Perhaps you could shed some insight into the way he handled himself while under your employ.”

Jesse chuckles at Hanzo’s eloquent wording. “Sure. Feel like some tea?” Jesse hands the armour back to Hanzo, who analyses the scratch for a moment before tying it back into his obi.

Hanzo bows his head, and Jesse leads, descending the ladder and walking to the kitchen. Jesse fills the small cast iron pot with water, places it on the stove before grabbing the tin of matches from the countertop, plucking one and striking it on the counter before igniting the small lump of aether.

Jesse gestures to the table and takes a seat. Hanzo follows as he unties the armour from his obi and places it on the table as he sits down. Jesse grabs it again, running a thumb over the indents on the front. “Genji said nothing about you, or your family. He only referred to you as ‘my brother’, and even when I pushed for a name he still wouldn’t tell me. He said he was from a small fishing village just outside of Edo, and that he wanted more than that in his life.”

Hanzo nods, inhaling and exhaling slowly as his shoulders sag slightly. “Genji has always been loyal,” he states, before his lips press in a thin line, “despite his other flaws.”

“Oh?” Jesse asks, surprised. “What flaws might those be?”

“He has no interest in the family business. He is more interested in seeing the world. Getting himself into unnecessary danger.” He gestures to the armour with the wave of his hand.

Jesse frowns. “I ain’t going to pretend to understand what your ‘family business’ is. But he’s living life. He’s seein’ the world. Yeah, he might’ve got into trouble now…” Jesse pauses and offers a sympathetic smile when Hanzo frowns, “But we’ll find him and bring him home.”

Hanzo scoffs and clenches his jaw. “He should not have allowed himself to be captured.” The anger is evident in his voice, before turning to disappointment as he stares at the armour, “He is better than that.”

“Well, something’s happened that was out of his control,” Jesse bites back. He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose while taking a breath. “Why didn’t Genji use his dragon?”

Hanzo frowns, leaning forward, palms down on the table and the anger thick in his voice, “He told you of this?”

Jesse stares at him unblinking, putting on an imperturbable front. He has no intention of making Hanzo angrier, nor does he want to show that he is intimidated by Hanzo when he is angry; if the spike in his heart rate is anything to go by. “No,” Jesse says calmly, “But I know who you Shimada’s are, remember? And if you’ve got a dragon,” Jesse looks at Hanzo’s left arm, “then I would imagine he would too.”

Hanzo’s features soften as he nods. Looking down at his left wrist, he squeezes it with his right hand before clasping them together on the table. “What exactly have you heard?”

Jesse looks over to the boiling pot of water, taking it off the stove and grabbing out a ceramic teapot from a cupboard. “I have heard that you lot can summon and control dragons. That’s how you acquire territory in Japan.” Jesse adds a small amount of jasmine tea to a strainer and pours the hot water on top. He places the teapot on the table and looks at Hanzo. “I also know that you’re a reclusive lot. Don’t like your name out there.”

Hanzo shakes his head vehemently. “We do not. As for why Genji did not use his dragon, I am at a loss as to why. Perhaps he is incapacitated.”

“Sneak attack maybe…” Jesse wonders. “Perhaps if someone knocked him out and has kept him knocked out, that could be the reason.” He is met with silence, Hanzo is obviously thinking hard to himself, given the frown on his face. “So,” Jesse starts, turning back to the counter to grab two tea cups from the cupboard. “Why is it that Genji’s allowed to roam the world?”

“Because my father allows him so,” Hanzo murmurs, sadness behind his words. Not anger like earlier, but genuine sadness. 

Jesse looks at Hanzo, his eyes are unfocused, lost in thought. Jesse thinks about those words and the heaviness behind them. His father allows Genji to do what he wants, yet keeps Hanzo on a leash, perhaps? He sits down at the table, pouring the tea into the cups before offering one to Hanzo.

Hanzo blinks rapidly and looks up at Jesse, taking the tea. “Thank you.”

“S’no problem,” Jesse says softly. “So you don’t want to get out there and explore the world?”

Hanzo shakes his head slowly, staring blankly in his cup and lost in thought again. “I am heir to the Shimada clan,” he murmurs after a long moment. “I have been trained to succeed from my father. It is all I have known.”

Jesse nods. He suspects the answer to his question, that he isn’t  _ allowed _ to go out, and he suspects Hanzo won’t answer it, but asks anyway. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Hanzo looks at him, opening his mouth as if about to say something before closing it. He takes a sip of tea before placing the cup on the table, grabbing Genji’s armour and standing up. “Thank you for the tea.” 

“Before you go,” Jesse starts, gesturing back to the empty seat. Hanzo looks between Jesse and the seat, almost reluctantly sitting back down. “ I was wonderin' if you had any means to keep your bow hidden."

"Hidden?" Hanzo queries, eyebrows knitted together. "No, I do not hide my bow."

Jesse nods slowly. "Right..." How to handle this delicately... Jesse clasps his hands on the table and looks at Hanzo. "Hanzo, in the West—America and Europe—bows aren't commonplace. If someone sees you with one over your shoulder, you'll likely be arrested and thrown into jail."

Hanzo frowns; looking at Jesse’s hands clasped on the table and once again opens his mouth, though this time he takes a breath before closing it again. His eyes snap to meet Jesse’s and he narrows them as he asks, "Do you believe it wise to conceal my bow, then?”

"I do believe it is wise, yes," Jesse says, nodding. "Do you mind if I take a look at it? Perhaps I can make a case for you to hide it in when we're out and about."

Hanzo tilts his head as he considers the offer. “If you believe it so,” he says eventually. He looks at his tea, drinking the lot before standing up and exiting the kitchen.  

Jesse breathes a sigh of relief that Hanzo didn’t object, and has remained levelheaded this entire discussion. Jesse was putting off asking him given his temper, but it’s reaching a stage where he needs to build something so he can have it finished before they land in America.

Finishing the last of his tea, Jesse places the cups and teapot next to the sink to be washed later. He meets Hanzo in the hallway, carrying his bow and quiver full of arrows; Jesse notes that there are more than what he boarded with. "All right,” Jesse says with a smile, “let's go to the workshop, I'll take some measurements and we can see what I can do." 

Jesse walks to his workshop, unlocking the door with the key and it swings open with that creak, making a mental note to oil the door after this. He proceeds to the back of the workshop, clearing away the larger pieces of metal and wood, leaving an open space on his workbench for the bow. Inside a drawer, Jesse pulls out a ruler, a pencil and some paper and places them on the workbench. He turns to face Hanzo, arms outstretched for the bow.

Hanzo looks at Jesse's hands, then at the bow. He holds his breath as he hands it over, with as much reluctance as Jesse would expect if he were to hand over a piece of his own flesh and blood. In that moment, he understands just how much the bow means to Hanzo; that it as an extension of himself.

"It's all right, I'll be gentle," Jesse says softly before Hanzo lets go the bow. He feels the weight of the bow in his hands, and it's surprisingly lightweight given it's made of metal. "Titanium?" Jesse asks, looking at the upper limb closely. The bow itself is mostly silver in colour with blue highlights and gold trims. It definitely looks more modern than he had thought, given how traditional Japan is. It actually reminds him of his prosthetics. 

"Yes," Hanzo confirms. "It was made especially for my purposes. It is more durable than wooden bows."

"That so?" Jesse murmurs, pulling on the string to feel the tightness of it. He holds it as if he is ready to draw an arrow, surprised at how comfortable it is to hold. "Yeah, she's a beauty. I can see why you wanted something lightweight." He places the bow on the bench gently and starts measuring. "So most folks who want to conceal weapons hide them in a musical instrument case. Considerin' you're not from the West, I won't build a cello case. Is there an instrument from Japan that is about the size of your bow?"

“There is an instrument called a shamisen. It is three stringed and plays an amazing tune." Jesse can hear the elation in Hanzo’s voice, it makes him smile. He will have to compare notes on musical tastes with him. "It is longer than the bow, and roughly the same width, so that might work."

Jesse scribbles down the measurements. "Perfect. What shape is the case?"

"It is rectangular in appearance."

"Excellent, that'll make it easy to build." Jesse hands the bow over to Hanzo, and gestures to the quiver. Hanzo hands it over and Jesse holds the quiver in his hands for a moment; it is also deceptively light. The colours match the bow, and he runs his fingers over the gold fabric which is tied into a decorative loop on the side. He smiles and glances at Hanzo, catching a glimpse of the golden sash he uses to tie up his hair, noting that the fabrics match. He stands the quiver on the bench and plucks out an arrow, furrowing his brow. "Bamboo? I would have thought—"

"Bamboo is in abundance in Japan, it is cheap and quick to construct." Hanzo says, obviously knowing his train of thought. "It is also lightweight and lethal."

Jesse nods. "Makes sense." He looks at the arrow, turning it in his hands. He wonders if he can make them out of metal, if it will affect the arc and distance when loosed. Thoughts to keep him busy. Thoughts that aren’t of the archer himself. He places the arrow down in front of him and takes measurements of the quiver alone, then the quiver with arrows in it. He hands it back to Hanzo before looking around his workshop at all the various lengths of wood and metal littering the floor and benches. "I was thinkin', something wooden, perhaps. I should have enough materials to throw something together. Shouldn't take too long, either."

"Very well," Hanzo says softly. He slings the quiver over one shoulder and takes a breath, holding it as he wrings his hands around his bow tight before releasing the breath and shrugs. "You do not have to go to much effort. It is easy to walk around Japan with my bow over my shoulder while dressed in my kyudo-gi. It is expected and does not rouse suspicion."

Jesse nods. He smiles to keep the surprising disappointment at bay. Why does he care? "So what you mean to say is that when you're in Japan you'll never need it?"

Hanzo shakes his head slowly, and then offers a somewhat sympathetic smile. "Unless I travel elsewhere in the West."

That eases Jesse's mind a bit. Then he reminds himself that he is making the case so they can travel without arousing suspicion; nothing more. "All right. I'll have it done before we reach America," he says, looking at the arrow he placed down. When he is met with silence, he looks at Hanzo and follows his gaze back to the arrow he reserved for himself. "Oh, I just want to have a bit of a play." 

Hanzo tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow. "I will leave you to it, then," he says before leaving the workshop.

Jesse looks at the arrow again, grabbing it and turning it in his hands. A bow is a peculiar weapon of choice, considering guns are in abundance now, can hold six bullets and can be fired in quick succession without reloading. While he’s sure Hanzo can draw an arrow with incredible speed, a gun would be faster, especially if there were multiple targets. He grins as he has the idea, feeling the weight of the arrow in his hands, looking at the arrowhead, following the shaft all the way to the  feathers on the end. He wonders if he can make an arrow that could take out multiple targets. Perhaps something that could scatter on impact...

* * *

Jesse sighs, taking a sip of brandy as he looks out the window of the boat, darkness greeting him.

They are five days into their journey now, sailing through the Pacific Ocean. Interactions with Hanzo had been few, but civil since the discussion of building the bow case two days ago. If anything, he only moves around when Jesse is in his chambers, apparently intent on keeping to himself this entire journey.

Jesse chews his bottom lip, not entirely sure why he is so anxious about having him on the boat. Well, he could think of a few reasons—his temper, his need to keep to himself, his striking looks... He wishes he wouldn’t be anxious though. He wishes that they could have a functional conversation that lasts longer than five minutes.

He thinks about Genji, about how much of a polar opposite he is compared to Hanzo. Genji is fun. He laughs and jokes. The closest Jesse got to making Hanzo smile was when he spilt that coffee on himself in the kitchen. Jesse shakes his head; the man clearly enjoys seeing him in discomfort.

He frowns, thinking about Genji again and the armour Hanzo showed him. The thought that he has been captured and injured, if the blood on it was anything to go by, fills his belly full of fire. They couldn’t get to America soon enough. 

Jesse will be able to use the array of beacons set up through the country, much like the spider, koi and sparrow he used in Japan. When they finally arrive in America, they will be able to know almost instantly if Genji is there, and exactly  _ where _ he is.

If not in America, he has the system set up all through Europe, too. As long as Genji kept the small dragon he had made himself on his person, they would be able to track him. It was a smart idea, really, to set up a series of beacons and have them communicate. Jesse smiles, he has Genji to thank for that too.

Though, Jesse can’t help but indulge the niggling thought in the back of his mind that perhaps the reason  _ why _ Genji had the idea to set up the beacons was because he knew he’d be getting into some sort of trouble.

Jesse closes the book he is reading after realising he wasn’t taking in any of the words. He looks at the cover, ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens. He is eager to read this one given the recommendations he’d been given.

He sighs, looking back out his window and to the view of open ocean, into the darkness of the night. A bath would calm his anxiety, and he would draw one if he didn’t already have a shower to conserve water. 

When he can, he spends quiet evenings just soaking in the bath, glass of brandy and a book to keep him company while reading by candlelight—proper candlelight, not the artificial aether burning lights set up in all of the rooms. As much as the lights are clean, with no dripping wax and no need to replace them, the artificial white glow it gives off is just no substitute to a warm, flickering flame.

He slumps in his chair, resting his feet on the ottoman and crossing them at the ankles, thinking about having a soak in the bath now. He closes his eyes, imagining the warm water envelope him, soothing his aching muscles, feeling Hanzo’s body pressed against his as he lays back, sharing the tub with him—

Jesse opens his eyes and sits up, placing his feet on the ground and bringing his hands to his face. “Why’d he have to be so Goddamn beautiful,” he mumbles, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He runs his fingers through his hair, interlocking them behind his head while he tries to end the thoughts of kissing the delicate skin on Hanzo’s neck.

He shoots out of his seat when he hears a knock at the door, glancing at Hanzo is standing in the doorway. He fusses with his gown longer than he should have, making sure as much skin was covered as possible, before finally turning around and  _ praying  _ he wasn’t at the door when Jesse called him beautiful. 

“I apologise if I am interrupting you,” Hanzo starts, clasping his hands in front of him, “I was wondering if I could browse your library.”

Jesse stands there stunned like a damned fool. This is the first time he’s seen Hanzo with his hair different from that top knot he keeps. His hair is actually layered, the longer strands are tied back in a low ponytail and the rest of it comes down past his jawline, draped on either side of his face. He gapes at the way it frames his face ever so handsomely, accentuating his high cheekbones. Just when Jesse though Hanzo couldn’t be anymore fuckin’ beautiful. Jesse shakes his head and smiles, gesturing him in with the wave of his hand.

Hanzo bows his head, taking a step inside and looking at the library to the left of the doorway. “You have quite the collection of literature,” he murmurs, running an index finger over the spines of the books slowly as he walks.

“Indeed I do,” Jesse says with a croak in his throat. He frowns, ignoring the fact he sounded like a teenage boy whose voice is breaking. He clears his throat before he continues, “Did you have anythin’ in mind?”

“I do not,” Hanzo replies as he turns to face Jesse. “Would you recommend anything?”

“I’d suggest ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’, but I don’t imagine you can read French?”

Hanzo shakes his head. “I do not.”

“Shame.” He looks back at the bookshelf. He recommended it mostly because it’s a good book. Partly because if Hanzo could speak French, then, well… He spots another book. “Well, ‘Moby Dick’ is another great one.” Jesse grabs the book and hands it to Hanzo. He frowns, pulling it back slightly. “It does have a character that loses his leg though…” Jesse trails off. He scolds himself;  _ good job suggest the book with the damned one legged man! _

Hanzo extends his hand. “It is fine,” he says softly. He takes the book, feeling the cover under his fingers. Jesse notes just how delicately he touches it, wondering if he would touch someone else as delicately. He shakes his head as Hanzo flips the book over, before opening it and flicking through the pages quickly. He looks at Jesse and offers a smile and... goddamn if that ain’t the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. “Thank you,” Hanzo murmurs, pulling Jesse out of his stupor.

“It’s no problem at all, darlin’,” Jesse smiles back. The words cause Hanzo to stiffen up, before he stands up straight and draws his shoulders back. “Oh, I’m sorry, force of habit,” Jesse chuckles, trying to ease the sudden tension. “I didn’t mean any offence.”

“Do you refer to everyone by  _ that _ name?” Hanzo asks, anger tinging his words.

Jesse stammers, “Uh… n-no. Not everyone.”

Hanzo takes a step forward, scowl creeping over his face, anger thick on his voice now, “Did you refer to my  _ brother _ by that name?”

Jesse throws his hands up in front of him, taken aback by the sudden change in attitude. “No, not Genji. I didn’t, I swear.”

Hanzo stops his approach, closing his eyes and taking a breath; his features relaxing before he opens his eyes again. “It is of no offence,” he says softly, calm demeanor fully returning. “Thank you for the recommendation once again.” He let his gaze linger on Jesse for a moment before leaving the room.

Jesse’s heart skips a beat, which isn’t good considering it is practically pounding out of his chest. He holds his left hand to his chest, while running his right through his hair. Taking a seat on the couch, he sighs and pours himself a glass of brandy, drinking the entire lot. “Goddamned beautiful and terrifying,” Jesse breathes, pouring himself another glass of brandy. He takes a sip this time. “And protective of his brother, it seems, much as he won’t admit it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there are many recipes for batter bread out there, I specifically used [this recipe.](http://www.vintagerecipes.net/books/virginia_housewife/batter_bread_1.php)


	4. It's Only Admiration

Hanzo practically runs down the corridor of the boat, slamming the door behind him and falling against it hard. He looks at the book pressed to his chest and throws it on the bed before burying his face in his hands.

He has found McCree in the forefront of his mind since boarding the boat. Five days of torture. Five days of  _ that _ image of the first time he saw him, shaving before his presentation. The way his muscles rippled under his skin with each movement repeated in his mind over and over, no matter how hard he tried to will it away.

He cannot stop thinking about how good it felt to have his body pressed up against McCree’s; bare back against bare chest, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. His lips ghosting his ear, shallow breaths on his neck; the urge to kiss and lick and taste him is getting stronger by the day.

Not that he had those thoughts when he first approached McCree. They started during the tour when he boarded, upon realising he was standing in the same spot when he first saw McCree through the mirror in his bathroom. The single image of the man with nothing but a towel around his waist entered his thoughts and now refuses to leave. It was like an ember igniting a scroll, taking hold quickly and burning out of control. The more he tried to ignore the thoughts, the more he failed.

Though, while part of it is attraction, a part of it is admiration. Being able to finally meet the man who made his prosthetics, getting to know him, to see how the man works and what drives him; seeing the passion in his craft. His generosity, which Hanzo feels is unwarranted given the threatening nature of their introduction. On top of all that, he could not help but feel gratitude for the man.

Gratitude. An emotion he has not experienced with regards to his legs. Of course, a part of him was grateful that it allowed him to get his life back. Allowed him to walk again. Allowed him to do things no one else could do. 

His legs made him unique to everyone else. And that uniqueness was because the man he is sailing with made them for him.   

He knows he owes McCree gratitude. Just a simple ‘thank you for saving my life’. Though whenever he thinks he can say it, his mind is drawn to kissing him, feeling the warmth of his skin under his fingertips, wondering just what he tastes like…

Hanzo shakes his head. He cannot keep having these thoughts. 

Keeping himself locked up in his chambers has not helped. He looks at his quiver on the floor, full to capacity with arrows, then to the neat stack sitting on the floor beside it; the arrows he constructed only took eight hours to do. So much for that filling in his time.

Spending time with McCree has not helped. He thought about that night he spilt coffee on himself. How charmingly funny it was. How angry, perhaps, McCree was. Or was it embarrassment? He should have said something. He should have asked if he was okay at least. 

Hanzo sighs. There was one thing McCree said that was true. He is not Genji. He will never be Genji. He will never be allowed to behave like Genji.

He will not  _ allow  _ himself to behave like Genji.

He eyes the candle flickering on the table beside the bed. At the very least, he could try to be more open around McCree. Looking at the book on his bed, he rolls his eyes. Like a fool, he thought going into his chambers in his kimono, hair down to casually ask for a book recommendation would fix the issue.

He huffs. He is behaving like a thirteen year old boy. 

Sighing and sweeping his hair behind his ears, he walks towards the bed and picks up the book. He opens the cover and turns to the first chapter, reading the words on the page before closing the book once more. He holds the book in his hands for a moment before he brings it up to his face, smelling the cover and pages. He closes his eyes, the scent of old paper and ink combined with the slightest hint of smoke on the pages is truly intoxicating. 

His eyes shoot open. What is he doing? He places the book back on the bed and walks up to the window, stroking his chin and looking out into the vast expanse of the dark night. He is doing things without thought; without thinking of the consequences.

He shakes his head; he is doing things he is not  _ allowed _ to do. He has a betrothed in Hanamura; a soft, delicate petal from a wealthy family, wishing to align with the clan. Her family get territory and they bring the opium trade into the clan; something the elders, his grandfather and father have desired for decades.

Hanzo, though, gets a woman he is not interested in. To have a son he does not want. 

While Hanzo considers himself a skilled strategist and a strong leader, qualities he learned from his father, they are the only things he wishes to pass down to a son. 

He thinks about his upbringing—the rigorous training schedule, the searing pain from the chisels and gouges of the irezumi on his arm and chest, the smell of burnt flesh from the brand on his right arm, the feeling of the dragons burning deep within, how they plead and beg to consume his enemies—those are things he does not want his own son to have to endure.

He folds his arms across his chest and sighs. As much as he endured those things, they are part of who he is. Those things have shaped him into the man he is today. 

It is his duty to succeed his father. It is his duty to have a son. It is his duty to ensure the name Shimada continues on throughout the ages. He reminds himself of these things whenever he has thoughts of a life he cannot have.

With a heavy sigh, Hanzo turns around and picks up the book off the bed, placing it on the desk under the window. He sits on the bed and takes out his hair tie, placing it on the nightstand before he  lies down on his back and closes his eyes, clearing his mind so he can sleep. 

He smiles, though. He has not been called ‘darling’ by anyone. He has heard Genji utter the word, picked up from his travels, and has learned the word  _ anata _ , something his mother calls his father, is a rough translation. He repeats the word in his mind before saying it aloud, allowing himself to say it with a bit of a drawl, just like McCree.

He has never been called beautiful, either. His smile widens, he quite likes the way it makes him feel, excited and almost weightless like he could just float away, and he realises how much he wants to hear it again, with meaning and to his face. 

He rolls over to his side, blowing out the candle and settling in to the bed. In the coming days, he will make an attempt to ease the tension between himself and McCree.

* * *

Hanzo sits in seiza on the deck of the boat. The golden sash holding his high top-knot blows behind him in the breeze, occasionally settling on his bare shoulder. He wishes he could hear the sound of the ocean, but the sound of the metal clanking behind him is too loud.

Hanzo frowns. There is nothing that can be done about that. He can either have silence or fresh air, and today he needs fresh air. Bing stuck within the bowels of the boat was starting to agitate him, feeding into the claustrophobia he did not realise he had been afflicted with until now. 

Shrugging his shoulders a couple of times before letting them relax and sag, he closes his eyes and inhales slowly through his nose then out through his mouth, re-centring his thoughts. The sea air and wind on his face is enough to free his mind as he imagines himself sitting on the edge of a cliff with the ocean below him. He takes another deep breath before calling forth the Dragon of the South Wind.

_ “Can you feel your brother?” _ Hanzo asks.

_ “I can feel him. But he is weak.”  _ The voice carries on the breeze like a whisper. Hanzo can feel its presence, but cannot see it.

_ “Are we close to him?” _

_ “I cannot tell where his is. I feel pain. Sorrow. Hopelessness.” _

Hanzo frowns.  _ “You will be reunited. We will find your brother. We will find Genji and they will pay for what they have done. You will have your vengeance.” _

The dragons writhe within; unsettled, angry and begging for release. Hanzo’s whole body prickles; a sensation of claws scratching under his skin. He takes another deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to still them.

_ “You must be patient,”  _ Hanzo continues,  _ “McCree is resourceful, with his aid we will find your brother.” _

_ “Be careful with the American,” _ The Dragon of the South Wind warns, _ “You cannot have what you want. The world will crumble beneath your feet. Life as you know it will cease to exist.” _

Hanzo’s eyes shoot open, gaze fixating on the horizon in front of him. He has communed with the Dragon of the South Wind on only a few occasions, but this was the first time they had given a warning. The feeling leaves him cold, shivering in the breeze despite the warm sun flowing between a break in the clouds. 

Closing his eyes once more, he inhales and exhales slowly, clearing his mind. This time, he focuses on calming the dragons within, reassuring them that in good time, they would be released and able to consume those who have wronged the Shimada clan.

Hanzo cocks his head when he hears the chink of metal on metal behind him. Inhaling and exhaling a final time, he opens his eyes and stands up, turning around to see McCree leaning against the railing and peering down from above. 

“Sorry,” he calls out, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Hanzo waves his hand. “It is fine.” He watches as Bastion appears from the platform and walks over to the controls. “More testing?”

“Naw, just discussing course corrections and such. There’s a storm brewin’ on the horizon.” McCree points to the right side of the boat and Hanzo follows his gaze, the large black storm clouds which were in the distance when he first started his meditation session are now alarmingly close. Hanzo’s skin prickles again as lightning strikes the ocean. “It’s possible it could blow us off course a bit.”

“I did not realise the storm had blew in that quickly,” Hanzo says, looking back at McCree.

“You’ve been out here for near on two hours now.”

Hanzo’s eyes widen. Even now, after all these years, he is still surprised at how much time can pass while meditating. Deciding that he will do his physical training another time, he approaches the ladder and joins McCree at the controls of the boat. 

“Is there a way to steer the boat from below deck?” Hanzo asks, looking at the numerous unmarked buttons and levers on the console.

“We’ve got controls in the second workshop which Bas’ll keep an eye on. The finer movements need to be done up here, but the look of that storm…” He pauses to look at the black clouds once more, adding, “we need to make sure we’re all below deck before it hits us.”

“Very well.” Hanzo bows his head and turns away, stopping when McCree calls out.

“There’s some more batter bread in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Hanzo smiles; something which is becoming easier as his time with McCree increases. He has become quite fond of the man; his little quirks, behaviours, jokes. His culinary skills are surprisingly good too; aside from the batter bread, dinner meals are different every night and are delicious. 

Taking a breath, he relaxes his face to neutral, putting on a stoic front before he turns around. “Thank you for the offer, however I wish to retreat to my chambers with a cup of tea. I want to read the book you recommended.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you think about it,” McCree smiles.

Hanzo bows his head and can feel his lips curl upwards into a small smile. He is finding McCree’s smile to be quite infectious, and as much as he tries, he cannot suppress it. He turns away before it grows wider, proceeding down the ladder, through the corridor and into the kitchen, where he is met with a fresh pot of tea and a clean, empty cup on the counter next to the steaming batter bread. 

Giving in to temptation, he cut himself a slice. Next to the bread is a new preserve, this one golden in colour. Unscrewing the lid and based on the smell, Hanzo guesses it is apricot. Spreading it on the slice and taking a bite, the taste confirms his deduction.

Two slices later and a cup of tea down, he pours a second cup and heads for his chambers, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard and cushioned with pillows. He picks up the book from the nightstand, turns to page one and starts reading.

* * *

Hanzo braces himself against the wall of the boat; the wind accompanying the storm is relentless. He looks up at the deck above him as it creaks, convinced the boat will break apart with the next gust and send him either flying with the debris or drop him into the depths of the ocean.

“Not as bad as I’ve seen,” McCree reassures with a gentle smile. 

The look of panic must be evident on his face. “You have experienced worse?” Hanzo asks, disbelief carrying heavily in his tone. There cannot be a storm worse than this.

“Much worse. This one’s a baby, just a little wind and rain. No lightning, fortunately for us.” He looks at his mechanical arm and wiggles his fingers.

Hanzo looks around the second workspace McCree uses, even more of a mess of metal and tools than his primary workshop. McCree assured him that this little room was the safest place to be during the storm, quoting that it is a ‘Faraday cage’ and would protect their prostheses and Bastion from any lightning strikes.

Not that his prostheses need protecting from lightning.

Still, he has not experienced anything like this—being at the whim of a storm which could be blowing them well off course; even though Bastion claims they are still on track.

He looks back at McCree and nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “How long until it passes?”

“Not long hopefully,” McCree says, glancing at the console before looking back at Hanzo. “We’ll still want to hunker down here for another thirty minutes once it’s over, just to make sure we’re clear completely.”

Hanzo sighs. Another thirty minutes trapped in this small room. This is the longest he and McCree have spent together on the journey so far. Thankfully, McCree’s attention has been spent with Bastion monitoring their course, so he has not had to partake in idle conversation. 

Once the storm passes, however, and McCree’s attention was back on him, it would be difficult to ignore him and his lingering glances at his bare chest. He shakes his head; why he opted to stay in his kyudo-gi instead of changing back into his kimono when he retreated back to his chambers was beyond him.

He huffs. Who is he trying to convince? He likes the attention he gets. He likes the fear it drives into people. He likes how it makes McCree’s cheeks go red when he catches him staring.

Reluctantly, after a few moments of calm, Hanzo takes his hand off the wall and sits down cross legged. He studies McCree, wearing his overalls and red shirt underneath, however unlike previous times where his hair was combed back and hidden under his hat, today his hair was parted down the middle, messy and allowed to fall loosely on either side of his face, falling to his jawline with the slightest wave at the ends.

Hanzo nods in somewhat approval. This dishevelled look suits him. His clothes are dirty; old grease stains are present on his hips, unable to be washed away. His hair is messy, and coupled with the stubble on his face, he is ruggedly handsome. 

McCree turns to face him, sitting down against the wall and resting his forearms on his knees. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and unbuttons two buttons from his shirt. “Lord Almighty I forgot just how hot it can get down here when I’ve got company,” he chuckles.

Hanzo swallows the lump in his throat and nods, staring at his chest and the dark hair teasingly visible. He had not noticed the heat of the room before, but could feel it now; especially with the dragons writhing restlessly under his skin. It takes more effort than required to tear his eyes away from McCree’s chest, focusing instead on his hands resting in his lap and stilling the dragons.

_ Perhaps this last thirty minutes in this room would not be so bad after all _ , he thinks as he looks once more at McCree’s chest.

That is until Bastion says something, causing McCree to laugh and look down at his chest then at Hanzo. 

Hanzo shakes his head, shifts awkwardly in his spot and goes back to studying his hands; he did not need a translator to know what had been said. McCree says nothing in return, just offers a playful smirk and a wink when Hanzo glances at him.

Hanzo looks back down at his hands, just noticing his fingers are covered in grease from something he had touched. He scratches at it in vain, doing nothing more than merely spreading it, however he is thankful that it is something he can turn his attention to.

“Here,” McCree offers. Hanzo looks up, seeing a handkerchief in McCree’s hand. Hanzo takes it and wipes his fingers, offering it back once his hands are clean.

“You’ve ah…” McCree starts, wiping at his cheek “…also got some grease, right there.” 

When Hanzo touched his face is beyond him. He huffs, wiping it away with his finger.

“Naw, you’re just smudging it now,” McCree says, shaking his head. Walking on his knees and looking at the handkerchief in his hands, he finds a clean spot and licks it before holding it to Hanzo’s face. “May I?”

Hanzo nods and McCree places a hand under his chin while gently wiping the grease from his cheek. Time feels like it’s slowed down to a crawl, Hanzo holds his breath as his stomach flutters under the touch. His eyes bounce around the room; he definitely does not want to be caught staring at McCree, and he is absolutely not going to look as Bastion. 

Without thought, Hanzo’s eyes settle on McCree's face. He almost looks away but stops. Being this close to him, Hanzo can see that he has a faint peppering of freckles on his cheeks and nose. Brows pinched together in a frown, McCree thankfully does not look at Hanzo; all his focus is on that spot on his cheek, allowing Hanzo to continue his stare. He looks at the dark stubble on his cheeks, the longer hairs of his moustache before settling on his plush lips. An image of Hanzo cupping his face and kissing him enters his mind, and he finds himself wringing his hands together to restrain the urge to do just that. 

Breaking him from his stupor when McCree’s eyes flit up to meet his, Hanzo sucks in a breath and waits for the inevitable mocking comments, but is instead treated to a smirk and another wink. Hanzo’s breathing hitches, his skin tingles as the dragons writhe further and he finally looks away, feeling heat pool in his core.

“There ya go,” Jesse says, voice low and husky, gently brushing a calloused thumb across the spot before sitting back down against the opposite wall. 

Hanzo brushes his fingertips against his cheek, savouring the residual touch. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

McCree smiles. “You’re welcome.” 

They maintain eye contact for a few moments. Hanzo thinks about running his hands through McCree’s hair, feeling the coarse hair on his face underneath his fingertips. He wonders what McCree is thinking, and smiles when McCree's eyes flit down to his bare pectoral.

Hanzo is broken from his thoughts by Bastion saying something, though this time McCree ignores him, causing the mechanical man to throw his hands up in exasperation and disturb the bird resting on his shoulder; flapping its wings in fright. That frees McCree from his lingering gaze as he clears his throat, glances at Bastion before standing up and looking at the console. 

Hanzo looks back down at his hands and while they are clean, he notices there is grease under his fingernails. He smiles and shrugs it off, touching his cheek once again and feeling the residual touch from McCree’s thumb. 

Now, more than ever, he wants to feel that gentle touch all over his body, as someone who is so rugged in appearance should not be that gentle. The dragons writhe, slithering around unsettled and he closes his eyes, taking a series of deep breaths to calm them and put an end to his unwanted arousal.

“It should be safe enough for us to leave.”

Hanzo opens his eyes and frowns. “Surely it has not been thirty minutes?”

“Naw, but we haven’t been rocked by wind for a while and there ain’t any thunder about. We got lucky, partner.” 

_ Partner _ . The word makes Hanzo smile. He stands up slowly, still bracing himself against the wall of the boat, fully expecting a gust of wind to knock him off his feet. He listens for the roar of the wind, looking up at the roof of the boat, waiting for that long creak from earlier, and… nothing.

“Care to join us above deck, check out the damage?”

Hanzo nods again, offering a weak, “Yes.” For the first time on their journey together, Hanzo feels like he can stand to be in McCree’s company, to the point of actually not wanting to part with him just yet. Much to his surprise.

After Bastion is hoisted above on his platform, Hanzo follows McCree up the ladder to the deck of the boat. After accidentally catching a look at his behind when looking up to see how much further, he steals a couple more glances. He never thought he would ever admit it, but he longs to see McCree in his tight trousers. His work clothes are maddeningly loose on his body, but now, climbing this ladder, Hanzo can make out the curve of his behind. When the hatch above opens, letting in what remains of the daylight, Hanzo is quick to look away. 

The deck of the boat glistens from the rain, and the sunlight reflecting off it is harsh. Hanzo holds a hand up to shield his eyes, following McCree to the controls.

“Careful there,” he warns, pointing to the deck. “The deck might be slippery with the rain.”

Hanzo nods, already careful of his footing. “Have we steered off course?” he asks, standing beside McCree and glancing at the controls.

Smiling, McCree says, “Nup, if anything, we’ve shaved almost a day off our journey. That puts our arrival in America to three days’ time, not four.”

Hanzo smiles and nods. “Good news.”

“Sure is,” McCree says, placing his flesh hand on Hanzo’s bare shoulder. “We’re a day closer to reachin’ Genji.” 

Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat as he looks at the hand on his shoulder, then back at McCree. 

“Oh, uh… I’m sorry.” He takes his hand back, looking at his palm before looking at Hanzo. “I tend to be a bit affectionate,” he shrugs, “it’s a force of habit.”

Hanzo looks back at his shoulder, then back at McCree. “It is fine. I…” he trails off. The touch was nice. Very nice. “I do not mind.”

McCree smiles, brushing his hair behind his right ear. “Hey, um…” He starts, voice trembling before he clears his throat. “Care to join me for a drink? I could use one after the day we’ve had.”

Hanzo smiles wider, something that is becoming easier by the moment, apparently. “I would very much like to accompany you for a drink.”

McCree nods, turning to Bastion. “You’ve got the helm, my fellow Bastion. Shout out if you need anythin’.”

Bastion replies in a series of almost rushed beeps and whirrs, the noises emitting much faster than Hanzo had previously heard. Whatever is said, it results in McCree turning his back to Hanzo and lowering his voice; enough that Hanzo cannot hear what he is saying over the clanking gears. No doubt it has something to do with him, the mechanical man has been very forthright with his behaviour towards him. 

“All right, let’s go,” McCree smiles, gesturing to the ladder shaft with the extension of his arm, “after you.”

Hanzo waits for McCree at the bottom of the ladder, following behind as they walk into the recreation room. McCree gestures to the seats in front of the bar as he proceeds around it, grabbing two small glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Taking a seat as he looks at the golden liquid, Hanzo grins. While he has enjoyed a glass only a handful of times—one of the small number of things from Western culture he has indulged in—he is quite fond of the taste.  

McCree pours the two glasses before joining Hanzo at the bar, taking a seat and holding up his glass. “To surviving the storm.”

Hanzo picks up his glass and nods, watching McCree take a sip before he does, letting the alcohol sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He hums, noting that this is exceptional quality whiskey.

He looks from his glass to McCree, who is looking back at him, smile on his face. Hanzo averts his eyes, looking back at his glass, then anywhere else that was not McCree’s face or chest. Settling on the doorway behind McCree, Hanzo takes another sip of the whiskey before drinking the entire lot, just to do something that fill this uncomfortable silence other than speaking.

Placing his glass back down on the bar, McCree immediately pours him more before he can interject. He nods in acknowledgement, spinning the glass on the counter slowly. The longer this silence grows, the harder it is to find the words to start a conversation. Seconds tick past, the will to retreat to his chambers grows and now he is second guessing his decision for a drink. 

He is being foolish. He was sent to find his brother, not make friends. 

Looking at his glass, Hanzo decides that he will finish this then retreat back to his chambers, feigning tiredness. He picks up the glass, holding it in his hand for a moment, just about to bring it up to his mouth when McCree  _ finally  _ breaks the silence. 

“So,” McCree starts. Hanzo looks up at him, holding eye contact for a moment before he continues, “You’re an archer, then?”

Hanzo nods. “I am trained in kyūdō, yes.” 

“Kyūdō,” McCree repeats slowly, ending the word with a smile. “Genji wasn’t an archer, though. He had his katana and wazi…” he trails off, eyebrows knitted together. 

“Wakizashi,” Hanzo finishes.

McCree clicks his fingers. “Yep, that’s it.” He smiles, taking a sip of whiskey. He taps his metal fingers on the bar, eyes glancing at Hanzo’s chest before snapping up and changing subjects abruptly, “I’m making progress on your case. It’s mostly done, I just need to assemble it.”

Hanzo smiles, feeling the heat creep up to his cheeks. The anticipation surrounding the bow case is growing with how secretive McCree is being with it; even going to the extra effort of covering it with an old sheet when he is not working on it. 

“I am eager to finally see it,” Hanzo beams. He looks at Jesse and once again the seconds tick past, entering another awkward silence. Hanzo looks at his glass and drinks the lot, savouring the burn in his throat. He places his glass on the bar and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can even get a word out, McCree pours him more. Hanzo takes a breath and holds it, saying, “Thank you,” when McCree sets the bottle back down.

McCree taps the neck of the bottle with his index finger, looking at Hanzo as a grin crosses his face. “I’m also workin’ on something else for you.”

“Oh? What is it?” 

McCree grins, drinking his alcohol and pouring himself more. “That’s a surprise. Somethin’ I’m keepin’ to myself ‘til it’s complete.”

Hanzo frowns before it gives way to a smirk. “Then why tease me with it?” Ordinarily he would be annoyed by McCree’s games, but now he cannot help but play along. He glances at his glass with a suspicious eye; the alcohol must be affecting his judgement. 

McCree shrugs. “Gage your reaction, mostly.” He chuckles softly, adding quietly, “Just tryin’ to get to know you.”

Hanzo nods slowly. He knows he has not been the easiest person around McCree. Even after Hanzo vowed to be easier around him, he has not. He looks at McCree and smiles; with the help of the alcohol, at least now he is trying. “What would you like to know?”

McCree smiles and hums, resting one arm across his chest while stroking his chin with the other. “Were you always an archer?”

“I was not. Genji and I were both trained in ninjutsu. However after the incident,” Hanzo glances down at his knees, “I transitioned to kyūdō.”

McCree offers a sympathetic smile, lowering his voice, “That incident bein’ the reason why you needed prosthetic limbs?”

Nodding, Hanzo answers, “It was something I could do while seated.”

“I see, that makes sense.” McCree takes a long, slow sip of whiskey, eyebrows knitted together, eyes unfocused; apparently deep in thought. He pulls the glass away from his mouth, looking at the remains before slowly swirling the glass, causing the alcohol to climb the walls. “Making up your prosthetics was the toughest order I’d been given,” he says slowly, almost cautiously. “Usually they’d be made from brass. When titanium was asked for specifically, I had to scour the globe for it.”

“I appreciate the effort you put in,” Hanzo smiles.

“It’s my job.” Jesse looks at him and smiles, holding out his prosthetic arm. “I tested it on myself first, replaced the brass one I had. I couldn’t believe the weight difference.” He wiggles his fingers before resting his hand on his knee. “So I guess I should thank you for that.”

Hanzo nods. He knows he should accept the thanks. Instead he drinks his entire glass of whiskey.

“I’m uhh…” Jesse trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry it took so long to get the prosthetics to you. I built your two and mine at the same time. I knew the order was for a Shimada, and you were paying me quite handsomely for it, more than I would usually charge. I just…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “I wanted to make sure it was going to work ‘cause… you know.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes, thinking of all of the things McCree could be alluding to. He thinks about the moment it was confirmed that McCree would make the prosthetics, the level of secrecy regarding  _ which _ Shimada the prosthetics were for. How could he know…? Then he realises, “Because you knew my family and what we were capable of.”

McCree nods and exhales loudly. “I do take pride in my work, and if I was going to ship off something with my seal of approval, I needed to make damned sure it worked.” He finishes the last of his whiskey before pouring himself and Hanzo more. “I tell you, though, the strength output of these things…” He rests his prosthetic elbow on the bar and wiggles his fingers, “I accidentally broke my good pliers!”

“You were not prepared for the strength output?”

“Certainly not. I put in the same amount of aether as I would for my standard prosthetics, which helps take the weight load off. These titanium prosthetics with the same amount of aether…” he looks at his hand in adoration, turning it over and smiling, “I inadvertently created super strength.” He points to Hanzo’s prosthetics. “I assume you’re able to do things you wouldn’t normally do?”

“I can climb walls at a greater height without getting fatigued, also jump down from a significant height without taking any damage.”

Jesse smiles, leaning forward slightly. “Is that so?”

Hanzo nods, leaning forward also. “It opens up a new vantage point for assassinating targets.”

“Ah,” Jesse nods, sitting up straight on his stool and focusing on the drink in his hands.

Hanzo frowns, sitting back too. “You did not know I was an assassin.”

Jesse looks up at him, shaking his head. “Naw, well…” he trails off, slumping in his seat slightly. “You mentioned it a couple of times, back before we left Japan.” He pauses, looking back at the glass. “I guess I didn’t expect you to speak so openly about it.” He looks at Hanzo and shrugs. “Kind of makes me nervous, actually.”

Hanzo offers a small smile. “If I was going to kill you, it would be done already,” he says jokingly.

“But you’re here to find Genji, and you’re stuck with my help...” he trails off, voice turning quiet, “until I ain’t useful anymore.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to speak, before closing it again. He offers a smile, a sincere smile, saying, “I was not ordered to do you any harm. My father admires you.”

Jesse scoffs. “Admires? The famous head of the Shimada clan admires me?” He gestures to himself with his thumb to his chest.

“He said you were a man of many talents.” Hanzo nods, smiling wider before he looks at the glass in his hands. “Something I am coming to realise.”

“Didn’t I say that just the other day,” McCree says with absolute confidence. 

He looks up at McCree, meeting his eyes. A soft brown, similar in colour to the tenmoku pottery his mother collects and displays throughout the castle. An attractive shade of brown. “And no doubt you have left a good impression on Genji also,” Hanzo says softly. “If we find him, we will be indebted to you twice.”

McCree smiles as he looks down at the floor, his cheeks reddening. “Oh, stop it. You’re makin’ me blush.”

Hanzo leans forward, placing his glass on the bar and reaching for McCree’s flesh hand. Before he can even stop himself, he has McCree’s hand in his own and he is stroking his knuckles with his thumb. He can feel the alcohol’s effects on him—feeling warm and slightly groggy and very clearly inebriated as he acts against his better judgement to cease this frivolous behaviour, to pull away and retreat back to the solitude of his chambers. Instead, he smiles, saying, “We will reward you greatly for your assistance.”

When Jesse looks up at him, Hanzo stands and cups his face with his other hand, sweeping his hair behind his ear. “I am extremely grateful to you for giving me my life back. I know I should have died. I wanted to die. It was a dishonour to my family otherwise.” He places his other hand on Jesse’s face; the stubble of his beard is rough under his fingertips. “When Father told me about a man who would make me functional replacements for my legs, I was sceptical. But when they were first fitted and I saw their power, I could not have been happier. And I have you to thank for that, Jesse McCree.” He steps closer, standing between Jesse’s legs and flush against his body. “You have made a good impression on me, Jesse. Something which is no easy feat.” 

“I… uh…” Jesse trails off, placing his hands on Hanzo’s hips. 

Hanzo leans in closer now, his nose brushes against Jesse’s cheek. He can feel Jesse’s breath against his mouth, warm and deep as he exhales. “You are welcome,” he whispers, their lips brush together before meeting, holding steady before the kiss deepens, slow and sensual. 

It is not until Hanzo feels the squeeze of Jesse’s hands on his hips that he realises just what was happening. He pulls away, taking back his hands and stepping back. “I…” He trails off, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. He did it again. He is doing things without thought, and this time he went too far. “I cannot do this. I am…” Hanzo turns around, his back to McCree, hands covering his face.

“It’s all right, darlin’.”

“It is not,” Hanzo says quietly, bringing his hands together and resting them on his chin. Oh, how he wants Jesse, but the Dragon of the South Wind’s warning echos in his ears, and it terrifies him. “I am to be wedded. I cannot have a romance with someone else.” He turns to face Jesse, adding, “With you, least of all.”

Jesse’s eyes widen, the look of absolute anguish flashes on his face before he looks at his hands in his lap. 

Hanzo shakes his head. “I did not mean any offence. I just… it is forbidden. I cannot do this.” And with that, Hanzo leaves the room and races back to his chambers. He closes the door and sits on his bed, burying his head in his hands. 

He is someone who his used to getting what he wants, living a privileged life. He rarely has to back down from something he wants, and right now, he wants Jesse McCree.

He has to listen to the Dragon of the South Wind. He cannot have Jesse.  _ It’s just admiration, _ Hanzo tells himself. Because for all of the self-loathing, the anger, the deep depression he endured, the one silver lining was that there was someone out there who did help him, who made him whole again. 

Jesse McCree was no longer just a faceless name. He is a man. The man who made his prostheses and experimented on himself to ensure they would be viable. 

For as much as Hanzo had believed that Jesse McCree was a fool, building silly trinkets to get rich because he has nothing else to do in life, he can finally see that he is a kind and gentle man who takes great care and pride in his work.

He sighs, walking around the bed to look out the window, into the vast expanse of another night. He had made things unnecessarily awkward, being foolish enough to get carried away and kiss the man. 

It will be another three days before they reach America. Another three days at least before they discover if Genji is even _ in _ America. 

It will be another three days Hanzo would spend in his chambers, skulking around while McCree slept or worked. 

He cannot face the man. Not after today.


	5. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor NSFW warning for this chapter.

Jesse is stunned.

_ Did that just happen? _ He brings his right hand up to his mouth and gently brushes his lips with his fingertips; he can still feel the residual prickle from the kiss. He has kissed his fair share of people and can say for damn certain that he has never felt anything like that. Well he supposes that since Hanzo can summon dragons that channel lightning and respond to his anger, then perhaps they respond to affection, too. He smirks, wondering if they also respond to arousal.

He shakes his head, taking a mental step back. Perhaps he was giving Hanzo the wrong message, with all of the staring and then asking him for a drink. He found the man attractive, but by no means did he want to bed him.

Well, perhaps a small part of him wants it. Looking down at the bulge in his overalls and frowning, perhaps he is kidding himself. 

He wants Hanzo. Goddamned wants Hanzo.

He stands up, thinking about his next move. He should at least speak to the man, tell him that the kiss didn’t mean anything, that they had a stressful day and had a bit to drink. 

He brushes his fingertips along his lips again. It wasn’t just nothing.

“‘Course you had to try and bed a Shimada,” he mutters, sitting back down. “Couldn’t make it easy, could you?”

It was by no means his intention for the night to end in a kiss. He didn’t even think that Hanzo was interested in him, with his behaviour over the last week ranging from monosyllabic conversations to total ignorance.

He runs his hand through his hair, and ultimately smiles, because it was Hanzo who kissed  _ him. _ “Still got it, McCree,” he says with a smile, rubbing his chin. 

He stands up once again, leaving the recreation room and standing in the corridor, looking at the door to Hanzo’s chambers. Knowing he'll need to smooth things over before he can sleep, he approaches the door and holds his hand up to knock, but leaves it hovering there. He hesitates, drawing a complete mental blank. His stomach flutters; nerves are getting the better of him now. 

With a shake of his head, he knocks on the door. After a moment of silence, he knocks again, this time harder. 

“Hanzo, we should talk about what just happened,” he says after a moment.

More silence.

Jesse sighs. “Fine, I’ll speak.” He swallows the lump in his throat, trying to collect his thoughts. “Please don’t think anything about it. We’ve had a stressful day. We’ve been holed up on this boat for near on a week with only each other’s company. Coupled with the storm this afternoon, I’m just going to put it down to stress.”

He pauses and waits for a response, but is met with yet more silence. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Hanzo really could behave like a cock sometimes. 

“Look, Hanzo... Just don’t worry about it,” he says sympathetically, not wanting to convey frustration, even though he’s feeling mighty frustrated right now. “I enjoyed talking to you. I enjoy your company. We were just starting to make headway, please don’t pull away. You don’t need to feel embarrassed.”

When he is met with absolutely predictable silence, he holds his hand up to the handle, brushing his fingertips against it before grabbing it. He has no intention to intrude, he just wants to feel some sort of closeness. He wants to imagine Hanzo sitting just on the opposite side of the door, also with his hand on the handle and perhaps debating whether to open it or not, but in reality, Hanzo is probably standing as far away from it as humanly possible. 

Sighing, Jess pulls his hand away. “Well, goodnight,” he says softly.

And with that, he turns and walks back to his chambers, closing the door behind him. He rubs his eyes hard enough to see stars, approaching his bed and lying down on his back. He covers his face with his hands. As much as he wants to forget about the kiss, to drum it down to just stress and alcohol, he can’t  _ stop  _ thinking about it. 

He can’t stop thinking about it potentially being intentional, and he can’t stop thinking about how, if the circumstances were different, how much he wants it to be real, to carry Hanzo to his bed and lay with him. 

Huffing, Jesse sits up, unclipping his overalls as he stands and letting them fall to the floor. He unbuttons his drawers and sits back down on the bed, grabbing himself with a tight grip, thinking again about the kiss, and all the things he wishes he could do to Hanzo.

* * *

Jesse adds a small handful of coffee beans to the grinder, closes the lid and cranks the lever, grinding the beans down to a fine powder. He opens the lid, tipping the powder onto the square of cloth sitting over a strainer on top of his cup, and slowly pours the steaming water from the cast iron pot over the coffee grounds. The smell of coffee is strong in the small kitchen space and Jesse is eager to drink what will be his third cup of the day. He impatiently taps the bench with his fingers tunelessly, watching as the water filters through the grounds before adding more water to fill his cup. Once filtered, Jesse throws the dregs into the trash and quickly rinses the strainer and the cloth, leaving them to drip dry by the sink.

He sighs as he grabs his cup, blowing on the steaming liquid and taking a sip. He turns, leaning against the benchtop, eyes squarely on the door of Hanzo’s chambers. The man hasn’t left his room in three days; not while Jesse’s been awake, anyway. Food left for him during the day would be gone by the following morning, so he is at least eating, and drinking tea if the spent tea leaves in the trash are anything to go by. 

Shaking his head, he takes another sip of coffee, before taking a gulp, cool enough that he can handle the heat; preferring to drink his coffee and tea piping hot. Holding the cup to his chest, he taps his metal fingers on the bench in contemplation, thinking how to handle the situation. They are on the final approach to America, and at the very least Hanzo needs to know. 

The thing is, Jesse hasn’t said anything to him since the night of the kiss, and he is nervous. Sighing, he finishes off the last of his coffee and places the cup in the sink, before clapping and rubbing his hands together. He walks towards Hanzo’s chambers without thought, because if he thinks any more about it he will be too nervous to do anything. 

He knocks on the door and waits for a response. After a beat of completely expected silence, he knocks again, this time louder. He can hear the sound of shuffling around, like he was climbing out of bed. Had he been asleep? Jesse pulls his pocket watch out of his pocket, the time reading 3:10 p.m. He waits a moment, leaning in close to the door to listen to Hanzo’s movements and of course gets caught when it opens a crack, enough for Hanzo to peer through with a single eye. 

“Yes?” Hanzo grunts.

Jesse takes a step back, noticing Hanzo’s left shoulder is bare. He’s probably in his kyudo gi. He could be shirtless. His eyes snap up to meet Hanzo’s and he clears his throat, which is annoyingly dry given he’s just had that cup of coffee. “We’re on the final approach to America. We should be close to land in about an hour.”

Hanzo looks at him up and down, scowling. “Was that all?”

Narrowing his eyes, Jesse says, “I just figured I’d let you know is all,” anger tinging his tone. “I’ll be above deck if you’d like to join us.”

Hanzo sighs and closes his eyes. “Thank you for informing me,” he says sincerely. So he did pick up on his foul mood.

Jesse nods slowly and tips his hat before walking away, hearing the door lock behind him. The more Hanzo behaves like a child, the more he longs for Genji and his completely normal and functional ability to hold a conversation and not hide away when shit gets tough. Shaking his head, he climbs up the ladder and joins Bastion on deck.

_ “Is he still ignoring you?” _

“Yeah, Bas,” Jesse sighs, plucking his hat off his head and ruffling his hair so it falls naturally on either side of his face before placing the hat back on. “Just sits in his chambers and does who-knows-what,” he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

_ “And you are still not going to tell me what it was that you did to offend him?” _

“The fact that  _ you _ think I did something to offend him offends  _ me _ , Bas.”

_ “Did I not warn you that it was dangerous to have a drink with him? Why else would he hide in his chambers?” _

“It’s complicated and I don’t need your judgement!” Jesse bites back. He huffs, closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Bas. You don’t deserve that.”

_ “I do not experience emotion, Jesse. I am not offended by your words. But it is all right.” _

Jesse nods, looking out to the horizon. He grabs his cigar stub from the pocket of his overalls, placing it between his teeth while he lights a match, puffing to ignite the end before extinguishing the match with the flick of his wrist. He allows the smoke to sit in his mouth to savour the flavour before exhaling, rolling the cigar between his thumb and finger. He’s done more than his usual amount of smoking in the last three days; this cigar is his fifth.

He shakes his head. Damn it, Hanzo ignoring him has irked him something fierce. He didn’t think that anything could be worse than those  _ first _ few days on the boat, with Hanzo’s ignorance and unwillingness to have a conversation. But here he is now, a mess of emotions, not knowing whether he should be angry, annoyed, or offended that Hanzo hasn’t said anything to him.

He reassures himself, though, that he wasn’t at fault, and that there was nothing he could have done differently. He takes another puff of the cigar, looking at the horizon. He just wishes the man had the balls to confront his issues instead of wallowing in self-pity.

Exhaling, he places his right foot on the railing of the boat and rests his elbow on his knee. Just when they were making progress, when Hanzo was finally starting to feel comfortable and spending longer than five minutes in the same room as him, it all gets whipped back up again.

He thinks back to when he had Genji on the boat, when he would speak of his brother. He didn’t say much about him, that's for certain. Not much more than what he told Hanzo, anyway. Though he is then reminded of something Genji said in passing; that his brother is always serious, never jokes, and rarely smiles unless in the presence of someone he is comfortable with. Jesse chuckles at that, Hanzo was just starting to smile around him. 

“Guess he was starting to feel comfortable,” Jesse mutters. He looks at the ash at the tip of his cigar, flicking it and watching it drift away on the breeze. Now, with a bit of luck, he hopes it’s something they can build on. 

He takes another puff of the cigar and holds it between his teeth as he grabs the card from his prosthesis, slowly turning it over. Taking the cigar between his prosthetic knuckles, he exhales slowly while analysing the card, carefully running his finger along the edge. He smiles _ ,  _ thinking of the luck he’s had since it’s been in his possession. Thinking of the luck he needs now, not only with dealing with Hanzo, but with finding Genji. 

He chuckles, but as he slides the card back in, he cuts himself on the edge. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles, squeezing his finger, watching blood bead from the small wound. He brings his finger up to his mouth and grimaces; the taste of blood and cigar smoke is a horrid combination.

Looking back at the horizon, he breathes a sigh of relief. He can see land ahead. Finally _. _ He pulls his finger away with a wide smile on his face. “Damn, Bas, never thought I’d be so happy to see land.”

_ “Jesse, you do know that you say that every time we do a large ocean crossing.” _

“The need for human interaction is unrelenting, Bas. Especially when we’ve got one below deck who chooses to ignore me.” He looks at the cut on his finger, thankful that it has stopped bleeding. He rests his cigar on the lip of the console to extinguish; now that he’s had his little fix of it he is calmer and can think straight. He looks at the console and realises, “I forgot to grab the scanner, be back in a tick, ” 

Proceeding down the ladder and through the hallway to his workshop with a somewhat renewed spring in his step, Jesse can hear the sound of the taps in the bathroom as he passes the door. “At least you’re having a clean before gracing us with your presence,” Jesse mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. He pulls the keys from the pocket of his overalls unlocking the door to his workshop.

Swinging the door open, he ignores the creak and steps inside, glancing at the clock he finished two days ago which is set to go in Hanzo’s room, then and the new one he started which is going to replace the one in the kitchen. Both are somewhat identical, but unique enough that they’re one of a kind, with different sized cogs and gears. He thought about making a cuckoo clock after learning the skill in the Black Forest, but the thought of several birds all making a different noise to signify the top of the hour was just unappealing; especially in the middle of the night. Perhaps it’s something he can try his hand at one day.

Grabbing the scanner, he sweeps away the metal filings off the display with the back of his hand before heading back out. He glances down the corridor as places his hand on the door handle, catching Hanzo on his approach back to his chambers; hair fully down and neatly combed back, settling about halfway down his back. But that isn’t the only thing that has caught Jesse’s eye; Hanzo is dressed only in his blue hakama.

Jesse’s stomach flutters, gaping at his shirtless form. He is certainly more muscular than Jesse had imagined, his broad shoulders taper off into a narrow waist which shows barely any body fat. 

Jesse considers himself a fit person to be perfectly honest; fat over muscle more than anything. Given the amount of hefting of large objects he does, crates and metal and such, and all of the crouching down, he figures he’s essentially doing squats. But he definitely doesn’t adhere to any fitness schedule. He can only imagine the level of training required to have a physique as muscular as Hanzo’s. 

Then, he notices something else as Hanzo turns to open his door. An emblem on his right bicep. He narrows his eyes upon realising it is a brand; the flesh is visibly bumpy and twisted. Old too, given the contrasting paleness of it in comparison to the rest of his skin, but it is the same symbol which is on most of the little trinkets Hanzo carries on his obi and were present on the stalls in Edo. The Shimada clan emblem, he assumes.

A pang of anger surges through Jesse at the thought of Hanzo being considered property, branded like cattle. He thinks back to when Genji was on the boat, but he never wore anything which showed off his biceps. He knows at the very least he doesn’t have a tattoo on his arm like Hanzo, and wonders where he could possibly have one. Back, chest or legs are likely places.

Jesse looks at the door of the workshop door when Hanzo looks back at him, of course he was caught staring. He closes the door, wincing at that infernal creak, before locking it as slowly as he possibly can as Hanzo stands frozen—Jesse can see him in his peripheral vision—before he quickly opens the door and disappears in his chambers.

Jesse lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and hurriedly walks down the hallway to the ladder, tucking the scanner in between his shirt and overalls before climbing up. He shakes his head as the image of Hanzo with his hair down and shirtless while doing sit-ups annoyingly flashes in his mind. “And just when I thought you couldn’t be any more fuckin’ attractive,” he mutters.

He approaches Bastion once again, grabbing the cigar from the console and placing it between his teeth as he pulls the scanner from his overalls, flicking the switch on the side to turn it on. He places it on the console as it comes to life; the blank screen alerts him that they are still out of range of any signal from the beacons. 

_ “It seems our guest will be joining us after all, _ ” Bastion notes, looking at the ladder shaft. Jesse looks to the shaft and sees Hanzo climb on deck, smoothing his hands over his kyudo-gi before approaching. 

Hanzo looks at Jesse and nods, walking silently as he approaches. Jesse is still at a loss as to how someone with metal feet can be so silent while walking on metal. 

“Are we close enough?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse shakes his head, pulling the now extinguished cigar from his teeth and placing it back in his pocket. “No, not yet. Should be in a few minutes.”

Nodding, Hanzo walks up to the railing and looking at the land rapidly approaching. “Which city do we approach?” Hanzo calls over the sound of the clanking gears.

“San Diego,” Jesse answers, standing on his right side, glancing at his waist and imagining him shirtless once again. He shouldn’t be, he promised himself he wouldn’t stare, that he wouldn’t do anything that would make Hanzo feel uncomfortable. But why is it so Goddamned hard to stop?

“And do you have a means of land transportation?”

Jesse looks at Hanzo’s freshly shaved face, the stubble on his cheeks is gone however his goatee remains. He rubs his own face, noting he hasn’t shaved in over a week. He likes to let himself go on long trips like this. “Certainly do. And we won’t even have to disembark from the boat,” he smirks.

Hanzo whips his head around and frowns, to which Jesse replies with a wink before turning on his heel and walking back to the console, grabbing the scanner and looking at the display. It lights up purple with the first beacon, the one in San Diego. 

“Right, here we go,” Jesse breathes as the rest of them illuminate, one by one, giving way to a map of North America, covered in dozens of purple dots and a single blue dot, revealing Genji’s location.

“Damnation...” Jesse trails off, bringing a hand up to his chin and scratching in thought. This is not good at all.

“What is the matter?” Hanzo asks, voice heavy with concern.

“Well,” Jesse starts, looking at Hanzo. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Hanzo frowns and shakes his head impatiently.

“So, the good news is, we’ve got a hit on Genji’s location from that blue dot.” He points to the map and taps his finger on the display. “Bad news is, he’s in New Mexico.”

“Why is that bad?”

“I’m from New Mexico. I know the trouble that lurks there. If  _ they’ve _ got Genji, then we’re in for quite a tough rescue attempt.” He decides to keep his wording intentionally vague. He doesn’t want to think about how bad things could get.

“How tough?” Hanzo asks. It seems he was on the same train of thought.

Jesse mulls on the question, rocking his head back and forth slightly before shrugging. Too many thoughts, too many scenarios of what could go wrong. Shaking his head, he replies, “Won’t know till we get there. If we’re lucky he’s just hunkered down somewhere. If not…” Jesse trails off. He  _ really _ doesn’t want to think of the trouble they could be potentially facing.  _ Whose _ hands they’d be dealing with.

“We will be prepared,” Hanzo says matter-of-factly, looking at the land approaching.

Jesse smirks, “You seem awfully sure of yourself there, Hanzo.”

“I am sure. I have my dragons,” Hanzo says, confidence radiating off him as draws his shoulders back. 

“Right, well hopefully it’ll be enough,” Jesse sighs, looking at the American mainland approaching. He is hoping that this would be an easy job, get in, get Genji, and get out. No one hurt.

He shakes his head. Since when has anything in life been that easy? 

_ “Jesse, we’re ready to activate locomotive protocols,” _ Bastion informs him.

Jesse looks at Hanzo, waggling his eyebrows and gesturing him over with the tilt of his head before joining Bastion at the controls. “All right, Bas, whenever you’re ready.”

Bastion works the controls, flipping a lever and turning a dial. There is a brief pause and then the boat begins to rumble gently beneath their feet. Jesse descends the short ladder, approaching the bow of the boat and looking over the railing at the ocean before eyeing the pair of railroad tracks on the land. He nods; they are right on course. He walks over to the side of the boat, looking at the paddle wheels, and the rail wheels which now jut out from them.

Looking back over the bow, and both hands firmly grasping the railing, he is joined by Hanzo. Jesse smiles and looks at him, warning, “You might want to hold on,” causing Hanzo to frown and grab onto the railing also, just moments before the wheels underneath the bow connect with the railroad tracks. The boat shudders for a moment, staying in place, before lurching forward so the wheels on the paddles can connect. The boat creaks and jolts again as it transitions from sea to land, before smoothing out and continuing the journey on land.

“That is remarkable,” Hanzo breathes, looking over the bow at the tracks below.

“My own design,” Jesse drawls. “I hated disembarking between boat and train, leaving projects unfinished between either. So I built something that I could use for both land and sea.”

Hanzo’s eyes flicker with excitement, the emotion also heavy on his voice, “And this is your own private railway?”

“Certainly is. The McCree’s have had a finger in the locomotive pie for fifty years, starting with railway building and now with aether in most trains across America and Europe.”

Hanzo smiles and nods. “You are incredibly resourceful, Jesse McCree. More so than I had originally thought.”

Jesse rubbing the back of his head, feeling the heat creep up his face. “Aw, shucks, darlin’. Y’do know how t’compliment a man,” he drawls.

Hanzo looks him up and down, his eyes lingering on Jesse’s prosthetic, before his eyes snap back up, meeting Jesse’s. “How long is the journey to New Mexico?”

“Should be another thirty hours or so.” Jesse looks at the low setting sun on the horizon. “That’ll put us up for an early morning arrival in Santa Fe, most likely. Not the worst thing. It means we can use the night to get to my residence and decide our plan of attack there.”

Hanzo nods, looking out to the horizon and frowning. Jesse looks at him, wondering what it is he’s thinking, before noting the sun reflecting on his hair, watching the gold ribbon holding his top-knot flap in the wind behind him. He certainly is beautiful; Jesse wonders if anyone’s told him that. The words are on the tip of his tongue. It would be easy: he’d take a step closer, place a hand on Hanzo’s lower back. He can imagine the scowl Hanzo would give, but he would ignore it, he would cup Hanzo’s face with his other hand, caress his cheek, tell him he’s beautiful and be the one who kisses him.

He sighs, breaking from those thoughts to look out to the horizon. He wants that more than he thought he would. But by no means wants to make Hanzo feel any more uncomfortable than he already is. When they find Genji, Jesse will ask him about his perplexing brother _.  _ With a nod, he looks back at Hanzo. “I’m going to cook up some eggs for dinner if you’re interested.”

“No thank you,” Hanzo says quietly, still looking at the horizon. “I wish to meditate now. I will have something to eat later.”

Jesse nods, not at all surprised by the answer. “All right. Well, I’m plannin’ on makin’ another batch of batter bread too. It seems to be popular with the guests,” Jesse jokes, and smiles when Hanzo glances at him, offering his own smile. He bows his head, looking at Hanzo before walking away and up the ladder to Bastion, still manning the controls. “Bas, you’ve got the helm. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bastion whistles and Jesse gives him a hat tip before descending down the ladder, through the corridor and into the kitchen to cook dinner. He nods and smiles, grabbing the frying pan from the cupboard and placing it on the stove; thinking he’ll have dinner, a good soak in the bath, the rest of Great Expectations and some whiskey to keep him company.

Because right now, he feels the most at ease than he’d felt in three days, and all it took was a simple conversation with the man.

His smile widens; he might actually get some sleep.

* * *

Jesse adjusts the focus on his goggles, bringing down another lens to enhance the magnification. With a steady hand—as steady as a surgeon as he’s been told—and tweezers between his fingers, he slips the small brass cog into place. With the push of the tweezers on the slightly larger cog it’s connected to, the gears turn and the clock hand moves.

Smiling, Jesse pulls the goggles up, resting them on his head. He sits up and rubs his stinging eyes; using the magnifying lenses for long periods still mess with his eyes, even after all these years. He straightens his back and draws his shoulders back, linking his hands behind him to stretch and relieve the dull ache between his shoulder blades. Once the muscles across his chest start to protest, he relaxes and shakes out his hands.

He eyes the small lump of purple aether sitting in its iron dish, plucking a match from the tin beside it and striking it on his workbench, igniting the aether and placing a cast iron tripod over the top. He picks up his soldering iron, cleaning the tip with a towel stuffed into his overalls and places the rod on the tripod to heat up. 

He glances over at the small blue disc of aether, about as small and thin as a two-cent piece, picking it up between his thumb and forefinger and rolling it back and forth. The piece will power the clock, providing enough power for… well, Jesse hasn’t had to replace the aether in the first clock he built, which is now over thirteen years old. 

Setting the piece of aether on the table, Jesse grabs two pieces of thin copper wire, arranging them on either side of the disc. When the iron over the burning aether is glowing red,  Jesse grabs the wooden end and picks up his roll of tin wire, heats the end with the wand and it melts. He applies a small drop of molten tin to both copper wires on the aether disc, working carefully to not knock the wires accidentally. With a smile, he places the rod back on the fire and leaves the tin to cool and harden on the aether.

Stretching his neck from side to side and sitting back in his chair for a moment, he analyses the clock. He’s thinking of keeping this one all bare bones—leaving the countless cogs and gears exposed instead of covering them up. It’s a nice aesthetic, something he’s always been partial to. 

He brings the unfinished clock in front of him, turning it over so it is face side down. Testing the hardness of the tin and happy when the copper wire doesn’t move with his manipulations, he places the aether in a small wooden casing behind the clock face. He straightens one of the copper wires, letting it rest on the end of a small cylinder attached to the central cog before grabbing the iron wand again, heating up the tin and adding a drop to the wire. He repeats this process with the second piece of wire, attaching that one to the mechanism controlling the clock hands and with that, the gears start to turn and the clock starts ticking.

Jesse turns the clock around, standing it on its frame and smiles. He should get into the clock making business, the next most rewarding thing to making prosthetics. He has an abundance of timepieces now, and could easily test out the waters and sell one of them, see if there is an interest amongst the population. Another thing he can add to his steadily growing list of things he builds. 

Content with the clock, he places another iron dish on top of the burning aether, extinguishing it. He pulls out his pocket watch, looking at the time and setting the time on the clock to seven thirty. Picking up the clock as he stands, he turns around and is met with Hanzo standing in the doorway, catching him by surprise. 

“Ah. Hi, Hanzo. You should have come in.”

“I did not wish to interrupt you,” Hanzo says softly. “You seemed deep in concentration.”

“Yeah, I kind of was,” Jesse chuckles. “I hope you weren’t waitin’ too long.”

“Only ten or so minutes.”

Jesse shakes his head. “Hanzo please, at any time, if the door’s open, come in. Don’t feel like you have to wait ‘til I’m done.”

“It is fine.” Hanzo looks at the clock. “I take it you are finished?”

Jesse turns the clock around to show Hanzo. “Sure am. This beauty will be making the kitchen its home.” He looks back at the clock before glancing at the case sitting on the bench. “Actually, while you’re here, I have your bow case.” Jesse sets the clock down on the bench by the door and looks at Hanzo as he flicks the sheet, revealing the shiny mahogany case. “Here she is,” Jesse says, handing the case over to Hanzo.

Hanzo smiles, taking the case and holding it in his hands, testing its weight. “It is surprisingly light,” he murmurs. He analyses the strap, a simple piece of leather which can be adjusted like a belt, and slings it over his shoulder, nodding in approval. “This is better than I had imagined.”

Jesse smiles. “I’ll need to borrow your bow and quiver again, make sure they fit nice and snug inside the insert.”

Hanzo nods, shrugging off the case and handing it back to Jesse. He proceeds out to collect his bow, and in that time Jesse sets the case on the bench and opens it. The insert has two compartments, one for the bow and the other for the quiver, separated by a thin piece of wood. It’s insulated with the remnants of an old bed sheet, and gold silk he picked up from the stalls in Japan is laid over the top. Nothing is set in yet, not until the final measurements are done.

Hanzo returns, handing Jesse the bow and the quiver. He sets to work placing them in their respective spots. “Perfect. Now all I need to do is glue the wood down and you’re set. It’ll be ready to go in the morning.”

Hanzo nods, standing in front of the case for a closer look. He looks at Jesse and smiles, saying, “Thank you, Jesse. You did not need to go to this much effort.”

“It’s nothin’ at all, really,” Jesse shrugs. “It gave me somethin’ to work on.” He then grins, reaching for the arrow. “Which leads me to this.” He hands the arrow to Hanzo and he inspects it. “It’s a titanium arrow, has about the same weight as your bamboo arrows.” Hanzo looks at the arrowhead and narrows his eyes. “This is not a standard arrowhead.”

“It is not,” Jesse confirms. The arrowhead is comprised of four smaller arrowheads arranged in a cross pattern. He hands Hanzo his bow. “Draw the arrow.”

Hanzo looks at him with suspicion, but nocks and draws the arrow; the arrowheads separate from each other. He looks at Jesse, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“The theory is it’ll separate into four arrows. They’ll bounce off a surface and out here,” Jesse points to the arrow, Hanzo lessens the tension on the string and Jesse grabs the arrow, pointing to the hole in the arrowhead where it connects to the shaft, “a barb will protrude and embed in a target. The trajectory will be random, but if you find yourself with more than one person in front of you, or someone hidden behind a wall, you’ll be able to fire off this baby.”

Hanzo gestures for the arrow and he takes another look, analysing it closely before looking at Jesse, smile wide. “Jesse, that is extraordinary.”

Jesse shrugs. “It’s just a theory. I haven’t been able to test it with an actual bow, but when I throw the arrow to the ground, it does separate and bounce.”

“Do you have more of these?”

Jesse shakes his head, gesturing for the arrow. He shortens the shaft, and the arrowhead shrinks back into its cross formation. “Nah, just the one for now. But if they work well, I’d be more than happy to make you more.”

Hanzo smiles, looking at the bow, seemingly lost in thought. Probably thinking of the new ways he can assassinate people. It’s unnerving and Jesse shakes his head, not thinking any more about that. He looks at Hanzo though, looking like a kid at Christmas, and it warms Jesse’s heart.

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, voice low, almost a husky whisper. If Jesse had to pick a word to describe the word, he’d pick sultry. It makes his stomach flutter. “Thank you for this. You certainly are a man of many talents.”

Jesse nods and smiles. “You’re welcome, darlin’.” He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and looks back at the clock for distraction. “I’m just about to fix myself a cup of coffee, care for some?”

Hanzo smiles and nods. “I would, thank you.”

Jesse hands the quiver back to Hanzo, who proceeds to drop the gear in his room. Jesse takes a moment to collect his thoughts but finds he’s unable to shake the sound of Hanzo’s voice, the sight of that cute smile. Oh, how he is practically aching to spend some time with Hanzo, to go back to the night of the kiss and have that all again.

With a sigh and coming back to reality, he grabs the clock, heads through the corridor and into the kitchen, placing it on the benchtop for the moment. He glances over his shoulder, looking at the old clock just above the dining table; he’ll mount it to the wall later. Hanzo enters the kitchen as he reaches into the cupboard, grabbing two cups, the coffee grinder and coffee beans, while Hanzo fills the cast iron pot with water.

“I actually wished to speak with you,” Hanzo states as he ignites the aether under the stove top.

“Oh?” Jesse asks surprised.  _ This is good. Talking is good. More talking is very good. _ “What about?”

He is met with silence. Hanzo’s back is still turned, facing the stove. Perhaps he’s working out what to say? Jesse gives him space and gets the coffee ready, grinding a larger than normal handful of beans in the grinder in the meantime.

“Jesse,” he says eventually, turning around with a small smile. “I wish to apologise for my earlier behaviour. It was unprecedented and inexcusable. It was never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Jesse smiles and nods. Though part of him wonders  _ which  _ behaviour he is referring to. He’ll just assume all of it. Forgive and forget. “Don’t worry about it, Hanzo. I know it didn’t mean anything.” He immediately winces upon saying those words aloud. Of course, his brain settles on the kiss of all of the things Hanzo has done, and now he’s going to make Hanzo tense again. “What I mean to say is…”

“It is fine. You need not explain,” Hanzo interjects. “I am at fault. I created unnecessary stress.”

Jesse opens his mouth to speak, but closes it and smiles instead. He could argue all he wants right now, and it would seem Hanzo would argue this point ‘til the cows come home. With a smile and small bow of his head, Jesse says, “I accept your apology, Hanzo.”

Hanzo nods and clasps his hands in front of him. Jesse looks at him, then at the water slowly boiling, then back at him with a smile. What to talk about now? Why are these silences still so uncomfortable? He looks at Hanzo’s prosthetics, and thinks about what he did in those three days he locked himself up. Then he has a realisation. 

“So,” Jesse starts, gesturing to the table with a hand, “how are you finding the book?”

Hanzo smiles, taking a seat. “It is an interesting read. I intend on finishing the last of it tonight.”

“Ah, we’ll have to discuss it in the morning, then,” Jesse says with a smile, before frowning after realising what time he’ll have to be up in the morning. “We’re going to have to get up at an ungodly hour in the morning. Probably not the best to be drinkin’ coffee right now,” he murmurs then shrugs. He’s had so much coffee over his lifetime that it barely has any effect on him anymore. 

Jesse stands up upon hearing the water boil, pulls the pot off the stove and pours it over the coffee grounds, letting the water filter through before topping it up. “I’m going to set my clock to wake me at three o’clock. I can show you how to set the clock in your room, too.” 

Hanzo nods, reaching for his cup of coffee as Jesse passes it to him. 

“We’ll leave the boat at four-thirty, get to my residence, and figure out a plan then.”

Hanzo looks into the coffee, blowing the steam away but not taking a sip. “Have you thought about how you wanted to proceed?”

Truthfully, yes. And it has Jesse worried. “Nah, not too much yet,” he says instead. “Not much we can do till we get to Santa Fe.” Jesse takes a sip of his coffee, watching Hanzo take a sip and grimace. Jesse smirks, “This ain’t your first time drinkin’ coffee, is it?”

Hanzo nods. “I figured I would try it since you drink so much of it.” He looks into his cup with disgust, “I do not care for the flavour.”

“Maybe try puttin’ a teaspoon of sugar in it.” Jesse points to the cupboards. “It’ll sweeten it right up.”

Hanzo adds a teaspoon of sugar and tries again, frowning and shaking his head. He adds a second teaspoon and tastes it, this time nodding as he sits back down at the table. “That is more tolerable.” He sets his mug down and looks at Jesse. “You do not require sugar for the taste?”

“Naw, I prefer bold flavours. The bitter the better. Or sour, or spicy.”

Hanzo smiles, excitement heavy on his voice as he says, “Have you had wasabi before? It is quite spicy, you might enjoy it.”

“I haven’t tried it, no. I had a meal with Shimazu-san before my presentation and they said they didn’t prepare any because they were unsure how I would take to it. Apparently, it’s left some Western folk with a bad taste in their mouth.” 

Hanzo smiles and nods somewhat furiously. “It is an acquired taste, and not something you need a lot of on foods.”

“The best things in life are an acquired taste,” Jesse winks, holding up his cup of coffee before taking a gulp. “All right, how about when we reach Japan again, you introduce me to this wasabi.”

“I would be my pleasure,” Hanzo says with a smile, drinking his coffee alarmingly fast. Either he actually drinks that fast, or he is so disgusted by the taste he figures enduring it in as little time as possible is better. If the latter is the case, then Jesse is damn surprised he’s even bothering to drink it at all. “I will get back to the book now. Thank you for the conversation, Jesse,” he says sincerely.

Jesse smiles. “S’no problem, darlin’,” Jesse drawls. “Just leave your cup in the sink, I’ll clean it up.”

Hanzo bows his head, placing his cup in the sink before exiting the room. Jesse sits back in his chair and chuckles. While he can’t speak for Hanzo, he’s convinced they’ve just organised a date.


	6. The Lone Wolves

Hanzo huffs, looking at the clock McCree finished yesterday, mounted on the wall above the dining table. The time reads three-thirty, and that is thirty minutes later than their intended meeting time. He shakes his head; he does not know why he is annoyed considering he is entirely not surprised that McCree is late. 

McCree complained incessantly about the hour of the morning they would need to wake. Years of training, staying awake and alert for days at a time has conditioned Hanzo to be awake and alert at odd hours of the morning. Even at three o’clock. 

He looks at the stove, the pot of water sitting atop is boiling. He extinguishes the lump of aether, leaving the water to rest on top of the stove for the moment. On the bench in front of him he has two cups, one with tea and the other with freshly ground coffee beans sitting atop. Given it is thirty minutes past their scheduled meeting time, Hanzo figures he could at the very least make McCree a cup of coffee.

Speaking to McCree yesterday after almost four days of avoiding him was oddly pleasant, and put his mind at ease. He should have realised that ignoring the man would have been worse than facing him. Hanzo has too much of his father’s traits in him, though not unexpected given he has spent most of his life by his father’s side. It is a trait he is trying to break away from; a trait that Genji likes to point out, much to his annoyance. Hanzo sighs. Genji has the attributes of their mother: Carefree, relaxed, happy.

Not that Hanzo is unhappy. He has a good life. He had a good upbringing. He has a family that loves him. But… he has a life he to which he has no input. If not his father ordering him around, then it is the clan elders manipulating him, feeding him falsehoods about his father and Genji. Telling him that opening the borders of Japan to outside influence will be the death of the once mighty country.

Hanzo shakes his head. While he is yet to step foot in another country, on another continent, as it were, he can see why Genji loves to travel the world. The world certainly is an exciting place, just as his father told him, and so far he has only seen the inside of this boat.

He should not have locked himself in his room for three days, not that he was confined for all of those three days. He moved around when McCree was sleeping, above deck, or in his workshop; but avoided going outside, not wanting to encounter McCree or Bastion. Meditation helped immensely with his thoughts, though he avoided communing with the Dragon of the South Wind for fear of their judgement. Outside of meditation, Hanzo read the book McCree recommended.

Hanzo would never admit it, but the book helped him process his emotions with regards to losing his legs. Hanzo saw himself in Ahab, the captain who lost his leg to the whale. The need for vengeance Hanzo felt once they were replaced was unrelenting. Enough that it nearly saw him killed in the process. If he were not as good as he is, he  _ would  _ have died. 

With a trail of bodies in Hanzo’s wake, there is one person—the leader of the clan he had been ordered to assassinate, the leader who robbed him of his legs—who he has been unable to kill. He is Hanzo’s Moby Dick. And as much as Genji, or his father, or even his mother, had told him not to get consumed by the hatred, the need for vengeance, it has shaped him into the person here today.

He hears a loud thud coming from McCree’s room, drawing him from his thoughts. Poking his head out of the kitchen and into the corridor, he hears a muffled, “Son of a bitch!” on the other side of the door. His mind fills with multiple scenarios of a wounded McCree, ranging from a stubbed toe to walking into a wall, and he cannot help but smile.

Heading back into the kitchen, he prepares the tea and coffee. Grabbing the dish towel, he wraps it around the handle of the cast iron pot before slowly pouring it over the prepared mugs, letting it filter through the coffee before topping it up with more water. 

The Hanzo standing in the kitchen now is different to the Hanzo who boarded the boat. Different to the Hanzo who locked himself in his room four days ago. Hanzo smiles and rolls his eyes, he cannot believe a silly book about a man hunting a whale can have such an impact on him, but it was enough that he is slowly letting go of that vengeance, that need for blood. He will kill the man who robbed him of his legs, that is a certainty, but the need to kill him by any means necessary, at any cost, even that of his life… it is something no longer at the forefront of his mind.

Right now, he will enjoy McCree’s company; his silly quirks, habits and rugged appearance. He will get his brother back, and he will put an end to the conspiracy to have his father murdered. He will no longer hide in the shadow of the elders. He will no longer be influenced by their words.

Hanzo perks up when he hears McCree’s door open, followed by a loud moan, which Hanzo can only assume is a yawn. He can hear him shuffling down the corridor, his feet dragging on the carpet. Hanzo throws the coffee dregs into the bin and picks up the cup, taking a step towards the door, only to be met by McCree and a stripe of his bare chest where his shirt is open practically in his face. That is enough to make Hanzo forget that he is holding a steaming cup of coffee. 

Potentially on the tail end of that same yawn, Jesse’s eyes are squeezed shut and watering at the edges, one hand is hovering in front of his mouth and the other quickly grabs the bench for balance, if the small stumble is anything to go by. Hanzo looks up at him, then back at his chest, raking his eyes over the carpet of hair from his neck all the way to just below his navel, the hair that disappears into his trousers appears more coarse. 

Hanzo starts when Jesse yelps and practically leaps backwards. He brings the cup closer to his chest to stop from spilling the coffee and scolds himself for forgetting  _ again _ that he is holding the cup. “My apologies,” Hanzo says softy, “I did not mean to startle you.”

Jesse looks at Hanzo, surprise giving way to a small smile as he shakes his head, placing a hand on his chest. “Jesus, Hanzo. You could’ve at least said somethin’ to let me know you were here.”

Hanzo holds out the coffee cup once more and Jesse looks at it, stunned. Hanzo looks at the cup in his hands with a frown. “You drink coffee in the morning, yes?”

Jesse frowns and scratches his head. “I do…” he says curiously before grabbing the cup with somewhat suspicion. “I didn’t think you did. I thought you said you didn’t like it?”

“I do not,” Hanzo answers, grabbing his cup of tea from the bench. “Though I have watched you prepare coffee enough over the course of our journey that I prepared some for you.”

Jesse’s eyes widen with surprise before easing into a smile and crinkling at the edges slightly. With his prosthetic, he sweeps his hair behind his ear, and Hanzo can say with certainty that he looks attractive with his hair like that. “Oh. Thank you, Hanzo. You didn’t have to go to the effort.”

“You complained a great deal yesterday about the ‘ungodly’ hour we would have to wake. Considering it is now…” Hanzo trails off momentarily, looking at the clock mounted on the wall and raises an eyebrow, “…forty minutes past our scheduled meeting time, I assumed you had slept through your alarm.”

Jesse smirks and shrugs his shoulders. “More like I turned it off and fell back asleep, but that’s why I organised to meet an hour and a half before we reached Santa Fe.” He looks at his coffee, takes a sip and closes his eyes. Humming, he says, “Oh, you make a mean cup of coffee, Hanzo.”

Hanzo frowns. He looks at the cup pressed to Jesse’s chin. “Is it not to your liking?”

He smiles and hums again. “It’s perfect.” 

Hanzo smiles wide, allowing it considering McCree’s eyes are still closed. Then McCree’s eyes shoot open, his features quickly change to neutral. It catches Hanzo off guard, but given Jesse does not seem to react to the smile, Hanzo is convinced Jesse did not see it. 

Jesse stands up straight and nods, gesturing to the table with the extension of his arm. Hanzo takes a seat, watching as Jesse turns the chair and straddles it, his legs spread wide. Hanzo swallows the lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away.

“So, we should be arriving in Santa Fe in about thirty minutes,” Jesse says quickly. Hanzo's eyes snap to meet Jesse's, freeing him from his leering. “It’ll be cold considering Santa Fe is pretty much nothing but desert. Luckily it’s only a short walk from the platform.”

Hanzo nods, taking a sip of his tea. “The cold is fine.”

“When the sun rises, we’ll ride into town. I’ve thought a bit about what we’ll do, and I do think we’ll have to do the best we can to make sure we don’t stand out.” He pauses for a moment, taking another sip of coffee before placing his cup on the table. “I know you refused to wear anything Western, but the place we're going... Santa Fe is unfortunately dangerous. It's under the control of a gang which I've had the unfortunate pleasure of bein’ mixed up in.”

Hanzo nods, looking into his tea. This is an interesting development. Jesse McCree was about as far away from looking like he was a part of a gang as people like him get. “Were you a part of this gang?”

“No, I wasn't. Just...” Jesse trails off, looking into his cup. He pauses for a moment and frowns. “The gang leader. He's my father.”

Hanzo nods slowly, taking a sip of his tea and processing the information. He knows what it is like to be in his father’s shadow. To have to follow in his father’s footsteps because family honour dictates it. He opens his mouth to speak, pausing, before asking softly, “Was he upset he did not follow in his footsteps?”

“He was upset that I didn't know he was my actual father and that I didn’t join him,” Jesse retorts, annoyance thick in his voice. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Hanzo. I didn't mean to snap. It's just... He's a dangerous man, if you can call him that, and we have to do the best we can to not stand out.” He brings a hand to his face, stroking his growing beard. “I haven't touched a straight razor in almost a fortnight, and I don't plan on it, only because we have to look like we blend in.” Hanzo nods and offers a small smile. “Much as I don't want to make you do something you're not comfortable with, you wearin' something not so...” he trails off and sighs, glancing at the tattoo on Hanzo’s bare chest, “…foreign would be best.”

Hanzo considers the possibility with the stroke of his beard. Jesse is the expert in this matter, and as much as he does not want to change out of his clothes, if he believes they would be in danger, then he should listen to him. “Very well,” Hanzo says softly. “I do not wish to put us in unnecessary danger.”

“Thank you for understanding, Hanzo,” Jesse smiles. He looks at Hanzo’s hands before grabbing his coffee cup with both of his, bringing it close to his chest. “We'll get Genji back and then we can be on our way. In and out, cuttin’ dirt.”

Hanzo nods, assuming he means moving fast. “I do think more information on your father is warranted. If he is as dangerous as you say, then I wish to know all I can about him.”

“Yeah, I will if he's the one who's got Genji,” Jesse sighs. “Those are some deep wounds I've tried to cover up...” he trails off, looking past Hanzo with unfocused eyes, lost in thought for a moment. He nods subtly before he blinks rapidly, looking at Hanzo and saying, “If it's him, I'll fill you in. Otherwise, it's something I'm going to leave be.”

“I understand.” Hanzo finishes the last of his tea, placing the cup on the table. He has to believe that Jesse’s father is not behind this, especially if he is as dangerous as Jesse is alluding to.

“You know,” Jesse says with a smirk, “I thought I’d have to put up more of a fight.”

“It would be wrong of me to argue this when ours and Genji’s lives are at stake.” Hanzo offers a smile and a small shrug, adding, “Especially over clothing.”

Jesse smiles. “Thank you for understanding, Hanzo. Truly, it means more than you probably know.” 

That statement makes Hanzo’s stomach flip, more than he wishes to admit and he can feel the heat rising to his face. With the bow of his head, he stands up, grabbing his cup and offering his hand for Jesse’s. Finishing the last of his coffee, Jesse hands him his cup and Hanzo proceeds to wash the both of them in the sink, hoping that Jesse did not notice the pink in his cheeks that surely would have been obvious.

Once washed, including washing the strainers and the cloth used to filter the coffee, Hanzo dries everything with a clean dish towel before packing them away in the cupboard; the cloth he leaves to drip dry over the faucet. Now certain he is not glowing a shade of red, he turns around and leans against the bench. 

He settles on Jesse, his eyes are unfocused once more and has a small smirk on his face. Lost in thought once again, if Hanzo had to guess, considering he hasn't seemed to notice that Hanzo has turned around. He waits a moment and when Jesse does not move, Hanzo follows his gaze and looks down to where he is staring... and Jesse is staring at his groin.  Of course, Jesse would have been staring at his behind. He makes it a point to stare or glance at his exposed pectoral whenever he can, so why would his behind be off limits? His behind and his groin now, as it seems. 

Hanzo clears his throat to get Jesse's attention, which causes Jesse’s eyes snap back up. If the near instant reddening of his cheeks is any indication, he did not realise where he was staring. At least, that is what Hanzo tells himself. He feels like he should be annoyed by the leering, but instead smirks. It is not like Hanzo has not stared at Jesse’s behind after all.

Though a small part of him wonders what it was exactly he was thinking about. He looks Jesse up and down, one leg crossed over the other and hands in his lap, is he hiding—

“Anyway,” Jesse says, standing up and clapping his hand together. Hanzo snaps out if his own stupor, eyes meeting Jesse’s. “We should pack. Your bow case should be dry and able to take your bow.”

Hanzo’s stomach flutters when Jesse mentions the case. Another thing he will never admit it to anyone; he adores the case. When Jesse mentioned that he would just make something with what he had lying around, Hanzo was expecting something that barely held together, the bare minimum to conceal the bow, especially after he had mentioned that he would never use it in Japan.

The final product is something that was wholly not expected. Definitely not something that so closely resembled a shamisen case that it could realistically double as one, even though it has its own Western finishes with the strap. Just like his legs and his bow, this case is one of a kind.

He cannot contain his smile when he holds the finished product in his hands and carries it back to his chambers. He places it on the bed, unclasps the two bronze latches and opens it. He places his bow inside, and when he grabs his quiver, he pulls out the scatter arrow Jesse made. It truly is an ingenious design, something that would allow him to take out targets if they are hidden around a corner, or perhaps in a tightly concealed space. He turns it in his hands, looking at the arrowhead; this is something that would be very useful indeed.

He places the arrow back into the quiver, then the quiver into the case. They both fit quite snug, and will not bounce around or be damaged if the case we to drop. He closes the case, clasping the locks, though his fingertips remaining on the metal for a moment. He has a realisation, and it halts him in his tracks. 

He feels happy. 

Shimada Hanzo. The remorseless assassin who can kill without hesitation, without feeling a single shred of regret. He looks at the case, analysing the grain of the wood. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels happy. Genuine happiness. Happiness, he thinks, that he should feel when in the company of his betrothed. 

He slips his fingers underneath the leather of the strap, stopping at the bronze buckle and thumbing at the metal. He knows he should feel guilty about not feeling happy in the company of his betrothed. He knows that he should feel guilty that when he thinks about a life with her, he thinks about a life with Jesse. 

But he does not.

Picking up the case, he slings it over his shoulder and across his chest, feeling its weight. He jumps on the spot, nodding after the final jump. It is not unmanageable and it would still allow him to move with relative ease.

He looks at his reflection in the mirror. As much as he tries to hold a neutral face, he cannot stop smiling. He is in love with the case. His smile falters for a moment, when the thought appears in his mind:  _ I am in love with McCree. _

He is startled by a knock on his door, turning around and seeing Jesse standing in the doorway. 

“Oh, didn’t mean to scare you,” Jesse says quickly. Hanzo only nods and swallows the lump in his throat; words are escaping him. Jesse smiles and points at the case. “So how does it feel?”

Hanzo brings a hand up to the strap across his chest and nods. “It is very comfortable.” 

“Perfect.” Jesse’s smile fades for a moment. “I was worried the strap would dig in and be painful.”

Hanzo can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and he hopes it is not obvious. Jesse even thought about the strap being too painful? The man is considerate, indeed. Realising he is staring at Jesse, Hanzo shakes his head. “It is not painful at all. Thank you again for building it.” 

When Jesse smiles again, Hanzo takes a step forward. He wants to reach out, grab Jesse’s hand and pull him in and kiss him fiercely; the only way he thinks he can completely express his gratitude. Words do not feel enough.

He takes a breath and holds it. It would be exceptionally easy, really. He knows Jesse would like it. He knows Jesse _wants_ it. But he stops his approach and bows his head, breaking eye contact. Now is not the time or place for such activities. 

Then, he reminds himself, that he is to be wedded. That he is heir to the Shimada clan and he is to carry on the Shimada name. He cannot have a relationship with Jesse. 

Hanzo exhales slowly. At least he caught himself this time.

“You’re welcome, Hanzo,” Jesse says softly. He looks at his palm before standing to the side, gesturing with his head in the direction ladder shaft. “Come on, we should head up deck, see what our progress is.”

Hanzo follows Jesse down the corridor to the ladder, climbing up. Hanzo tries his hardest not to look at Jesse’s behind, but with no light in the ladder shaft and the barest hints of light creeping in at the very top, he needs to make sure he keeps a respectable distance between himself and Jesse, as the last thing he needs is to get too close and collide into him. 

The console of the boat is illuminated by two large artificial candles, one on either side of the console. Bastion whistles as they approach. He looks quite imposing in the low light, his form cast in long shadows on the deck of the boat while the light reflects off his metalwork.

“How’re we doin’, Bas?” Jesse asks, placing a hand on the automaton's shoulder while looking at the controls.

The automaton responds in his beeps and whirrs, and Hanzo looks to Jesse for translation.

“We’ll be at my residence in a few minutes.” Jesse casts his eyes north and smiles. “Good Lord I am lookin’ forward to setting foot on land, feeling the crunch of dirt beneath my feet… Smelling that familiar Southwestern air,” he says before inhaling deeply and smiling at Hanzo.

Hanzo takes a breath, a deep breath to smell this ‘Southwestern air’ that Jesse describes. While it does not have a particular smell to it, the air is dry; much drier than he is used to. Hanzo smiles and nods at him. 

His smile then falls from his face. Suddenly, he realises just how far away from home he actually is.

* * *

They pull up to the residence ten minutes later. Jesse hefts the satchel bag over his shoulder, containing his scanner, a second hat as well as a few of his cubed spiders. The plan is to send them out and make it easier to get an actual pinpoint on Genji's location.

Tucked into the holster strapped around his torso is Peacekeeper. He reaches into his jacket and brushes his fingertips against the hilt for good measure.

“All right,” Jesse breathes, looking at Bastion. “You've got the helm, Bas. Hopefully we won't be too long.”

_ “Stay safe, Jesse. Ganymede will keep an eye out for you.” _

“Will do, Bas.” He smiles as he places a hand on the automaton’s shoulder. He then turns his attention to the dove. “And you make sure you keep your distance,” he says with the point of his finger then offers a gentle pat on the bird’s back.

Jesse looks at Hanzo and nods. “Ready to get your brother back?”

Hanzo gives a single, affirming nod. “Lead the way.”

And with that, they descend the ladder, proceed through the engine room and down the ramp onto the wooden platform. Jesse grabs the small lantern hanging off his belt, igniting the lump of aether in it with a match. He lets the aether burn for a moment, welcoming the heat it radiates before looking at his residence in the distance. 

Pulling the lantern out in front of him, Jesse shivers slightly. The desert air is certainly cold; enough that when he breathes, a visible cloud forms and slowly dissipates. He’s glad he’s dressed in his leather jacket, in anything less and he might actually freeze.

He glances at Hanzo beside him, bow case slung over his shoulder. Jesse can't help but look down at his exposed pectoral and his very erect nipple. He bites back a laugh; as much as the man might say he isn't fazed by the cold, his body is certainly stating otherwise.

The platform gives way to a path, composed of dirt and crushed rock, and leads directly to his residence. He smiles at the sound of his boots crunching on the dirt. God, he really can’t express how much he’s missed that sound. It’s the sound of his childhood, of his adolescence. It reminds him of all the times he would spend mucking around looking for old, forgotten horseshoes.

His smile widens as he approaches the front door of his residence, grabbing his keys out of his pocket and flicking through them until settling on the large bronze key. He unlocks the door and gestures Hanzo through first, closing the door behind him.

“Welcome. Feel free to make yourself at home,” Jesse says, watching Hanzo look around the dark room. Jesse approaches the fireplace, fishing out the tin of matches from his coat pocket, plucking a match and striking it on the brick. The flame is bright enough to expose the small lump of aether sitting in the fireplace and he ignites it. After giving it a moment to burn, Jesse places two logs on top; the heat will be welcome before the sun rises.

From there, Jesse ignites another lump of aether, this one is connected to a series of wires in vacuum tubes hidden behind the wall. It illuminates several artificial candles around the room, and will have illuminated the artificial candles in the kitchen, den and hallways. The ones in the bedrooms run on their own aether. 

With a smile, Jesse looks around his living area, eyes moving from the red velvet armchairs, the bar stocked with alcohol and the library full of books. He sighs; he really has missed being back here.

“Your residence is certainly welcoming,” Hanzo murmurs, looking at the fireplace, then at the library.

“Sure is. I moved here with my ma after Pa...” Jesse trails off, shaking his head. “I gave her somewhere nice to live. She certainly deserved it.”

“You must have quite the large sum of wealth. Your residence is certainly large.”

“It's all in the aether. It was originally used for steam locomotives, but once I adapted it to power the prosthetics, it opened a whole new market,” Jesse chuckles. 

Hanzo nods, looking at the books lining the shelves. “My residence is quite large, also.”

“I can imagine,” Jesse says with a nod. “You live in a castle though?”

Hanzo's eyes snap back at him, surprise giving way to a nod. “I keep forgetting you know more than most about my family,” he says softly

“Guilty as charged,” Jesse chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. When Hanzo continues browsing the library, he walks into the dining room, plucking his hat off his head and placing it on the table, followed by his satchel bag, pulling out the scanner. Jesse expands the image so the display now only shows Santa Fe and three separate dots: the red one from the scanner, the purple one from the beacon he placed at the platform on his way through and the blue one from Genji’s dragon.

“Seems Genji still hasn't moved,” Jesse says as Hanzo approaches, looking at the scanner over his shoulder. This close, he can hear Hanzo’s slow, steady breaths in his ear, and can practically feel the heat radiating off him.

“We are close to his current location.” 

“Hmm,” Jesse nods slowly. He can feel himself being drawn into the silky smoothness of Hanzo’s voice, his lips so tantalisingly close to his ear. 

He huffs, pushing those thoughts aside to simmer. He needs to focus; he knows this territory and who is in charge of it. The very thought that his home town could fall under his heel makes his blood boil. He reaches into his bag, pulling out the four cubes. “Might be worth sendin' these guys out now,” Jesse murmurs.

“Is there anything I can assist with?”

“Naw,” Jesse replies, activating the first cube and watching the eight legs unfold. The legs skitter in place, tapping against the wood of the table. “This'll only take a few minutes. Feel free to help yourself to anything, food, alcohol, library. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jesse programs the four spiders, their placement visible on the scanner and indicated by smaller purple dots compared to his beacon. With instructions to stay within close proximity to Genji’s dragon, he places them out the front door and watches them move on the scanner. With a nod, he places the scanner on the coffee table and stretches his arms over his head, approaching the armchairs and collapsing in the one closest to the fireplace.

He looks over at Hanzo, sitting on the floor looking out the window. Meditating, Jesse believes, given his relaxed posture and deep breathing. Something he has watched him do on the boat.

He closes his eyes for a moment, wishing that they’d arrived in Santa Fe later in the morning. His body is begging for more sleep now. He most certainly is not a morning person, and he should have had another cup of coffee on the boat.

Perhaps he could have a nap before they head out and scope out the town. Though, they still need to go through his wardrobe and pick clothes which would be appropriate for their disguise. 

Jesse had settled on a backstory of a vaquero, with Hanzo as his business partner. He has enough of the clothing and the knowledge to pass off as one. And as much as he'd love to lap up the attention like he normally does when he stops by, there was a reason as to why he hasn't been seen walking the streets in Santa Fe in the last three years. 

He just hopes that given his current appearance, as dishevelled as he looks, as itchy as his beard is, that he won't be recognised. They can’t be recognised. 

He hopes that Hanzo won't be recognised given his—

_ “Jesse?”  _

Jesse feels a firm grip on his shoulder. He wakes up in a fright, looking at Hanzo crouching next to him, then at the clock mounted above the fireplace. He didn't take note of what time he sent off the spiders, but he knows they left the boat nearly two hours ago, and the spiders would have taken thirty minutes at a maximum to program. “Shit, I fell asleep, didn't I?”

Hanzo offers a small smile and a nod, standing up and taking a step back. “You were snoring.”

Jesse brings his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes before cradling his head in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. “I ain't a morning person, Hanzo,” he groans, shaking his head before sitting back in his chair.

“I would have made you more coffee, but it seems you are in dire need of supplies.”

Jesse follows Hanzo’s gaze to the direction of the kitchen. Now that’s awful sweet of Hanzo to be thinking of him. “Ah, yeah, that'd be because I don't come back here as often as I used to, and the food spoils.” Hanzo nods, then Jesse adds, “But thank you for thinkin' of me. Not used to havin' someone look out for me. Been a lone wolf for too long.”

“I know the sentiment,” Hanzo says with a nod. “I have worked by my lonesome for many years now.”

_ Lone assassin _ , Jesse thinks, taking a good look at the man standing in front of him. He looks at the dragon’s tail on his shoulder, following it down his arm. He wonders if he’ll see the dragons in action. What they’ll look like. If he needs his arm exposed to channel them. 

He stands up, clapping his hands together before gesturing to the hallway with the extension of his arm. “If you’ll follow me, we should get changed.”

Jesse leads Hanzo into his bedroom. He pulls the tin of matches out of his pocket and strikes the match, igniting the aether just by the door and illuminating the room.

The room itself is similar in appearance to his chambers on his boat, albeit larger. The same sized and an exact replica of the canopy bed, the bathroom is the same, with a larger bathtub to accommodate his large frame, allowing him to stretch out without touching the opposite wall.

Jesse opens the double doors, entering a large walk-in robe, full of work clothes, dress clothes, undergarments… much more than a single person would normally own, however he has a bad habit of buying clothes and not actually wearing them. He chuckles, for the first time he’s actually happy that he retains all of his clothing.

He looks at his work clothes, grabbing two pairs of brown woollen trousers. “So, I was thinking we cover as vaqueros.” He hands one pair of trousers to Hanzo, who offers a confused look and a reluctant hand for the trousers. “Cattle herders. They’re quite popular here in Santa Fe.”

Hanzo almost wrinkles his nose. “And this is a better alternative than appearing as yourself?” Hanzo asks quizzically, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

“I appear as myself and we’ll make an unnecessary scene,” Jesse explains, draping the trousers over his shoulder before looking at shirts. “My reputation precedes me, though I don’t usually look as dishevelled… so I’m hopin’ we’ll go relatively unnoticed.” Hanzo chuckles at the statement as Jesse grabs two calico shirts, one black and red checkered he would wear himself and handing the black and blue checkered shirt to Hanzo. “Something the matter?” he asks with a smirk.

Hanzo shakes his head, straightening his features and holding for a moment before his lips turn upwards once more. “It is nothing.”

Jesse stands up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think it’s more than just nothin’,” he says, amusement thick in his voice.

“It is nothing,” Hanzo reiterates with a quirk of his eyebrow, trying to contain his smirk and failing, all the while trying to maintain interest in the shirt he’s holding by playing with a button.

Jesse’s smile widens as he shakes his head. Clearly something to do with going unnoticed while looking like this. He grins, maybe Hanzo likes this look. He brings his hand up to his face and rubs his beard. “All right,” he says, turning his attention back to his wardrobe and getting back to the task at hand. “That shirt, it should offer enough movement of your arm if you need to use your bow.”

“Very well. Do you have any emotional attachment to this garment?”

Jesse frowns and turns to face Hanzo, looking between the shirt and Hanzo. “Uhh… no, can’t say I do. Why?”

Hanzo frowns and fiddles with a button. “No reason.”

Jesse shifts his weight on his other foot. Now this is starting to get a mite annoying. “You like keepin’ your answers vague, don’t you?”

“It is all I’ve known,” Hanzo murmurs, looking from the shirt to Jesse.

Jesse nods, starting to understand. “Well, you don’t have to around me,” he says softly. “I ain’t goin’ to judge you, or steal your secrets.” When Hanzo only nods, Jesse turns to the clothes on the rack, looking at chaps. “I’d think by now we’d be friends.”

“It is not that I do not trust you,” Hanzo explains. “It is…”

“You’re a private person?” Jesse offers, looking back at Hanzo, who nods in response. “It’s all right. We’ll get there.” Jesse looks back at the chaps, grabbing two pairs of the tanned leather, handing one to Hanzo.

He feels the leather between his fingers with a frown. “How did you come by this clothing?”

“I used to work as a cattle herder on a local ranch,” Jesse says to his coats, before settling on a brown canvas jacket for Hanzo. Jesse would wear the leather jacket he’s currently wearing. The left sleeve on the jacket is rolled up for the moment, but he would wear it down, covering his prosthetic when they ride into town. 

“I had assumed you had only worked with the aether.”

Jesse hands the jacket to Hanzo. “I worked on the aether in my spare time when I was young. My pa suggested I get real work, understand the lay of the land.”

“He sounded like a wise man.”

Jesse laughs. “Pa would have loved that. The man could barely read, but he knew his way ‘round a locomotive. Knew the value in honest work, and that knowin’ the facts from a book didn’t necessarily mean you were smarter than he. But he made sure I got a proper education, made sure I had those book smarts as well.”

“Still, he gave you a good upbringing.”

“That he did,” Jesse murmurs, pulling the clothes over his shoulder into his hands and looking at them. He inhales and exhales slowly, much as he doesn’t want to, he needs to tell Hanzo about his father. His  _ real  _ father. “Hanzo, my pa, he raised me, but he wasn’t my flesh and blood...” he says quietly to his clothing, playing with a button on his shirt before looking back at Hanzo. “To make a long story short, the man we’ll likely face, the man who likely has Genji, while he claims to be my actual father, he had no hand in raising me. He might as well be any stranger who has your brother. If the situation escalates and we have to defend ourselves, don’t hesitate.”

Hanzo nods slowly, looking at the clothing on the racks, apparently lost in thought. With a sigh, Hanzo’s eyes meet Jesse’s and he bows his head, saying, “Very well.” He then looks down at his clothes. “Perhaps I should try these on?”

Jesse nods, before reaching down for a pair of boots with spurs, holding them for Hanzo to see. When Hanzo closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, Jesse reassures, “Sorry, darlin’. I know I’m probably askin’ for a lot, but your prosthetics will be the most obvious thing that’ll identify you not belongin’ here.”

Still with his eyes closed, Hanzo replies without taking a breath, “It is fine. We will make this quick.”

Jesse smiles as Hanzo opens his eyes again. “Thank you for understanding, Hanzo. Truly.” He looks at Hanzo, placing a hand on his covered bicep. He gently squeezes it, and relishes at the firmness of it. “You can have the wardrobe, I’ll go change in the bathroom.” 

* * *

“Still no change in Genji’s location,” Jesse calls out upon hearing Hanzo’s footsteps from the bedroom and the sound of spurs jangling down the hallway.

“Are you sure he will have his dragon on him?”

“Got to hope so,” Jesse yells over his shoulder, before bringing his voice down to a murmur, “Otherwise we’re up shit creek.” He turns to face Hanzo and can’t help but smile. “Well I’ll be… you look like a genuine cattle rancher now.”

Hanzo closes his eyes and shakes his at the statement. “This jacket is too restrictive,” he says, grabbing it and opening it, revealing the shirt underneath. “The shirt, thankfully, is less so. If I am required to use my bow I will have to remove the jacket.”

“Good thing you have a smaller frame than me,” Jesse chuckles, turning back to the bench. “You’ll want to wear these too.” He pulls out another black Stetson from his satchel and the black riding gloves from the table and hands them to Hanzo.

Hanzo reluctantly takes the items, turning the hat in his hands before placing it on his head. 

“Ah,” Jesse says, standing up. “You might want to remove your ribbon. It kind of stands out.” When Hanzo looks at him skeptical, Jesse adds, “Don't worry, I’ll make sure we won't leave without it.” 

With a slow nod and a heavy sigh, Hanzo tucks the gloves under his arm, takes the hat off his head and pulls on the gold fabric until it is in his hands. His hair stays in its top knot; so it seems his ribbon is purely an accessory. He slides the hat back on and folds the silk gingerly before just staring at it for the longest time. Jesse notes the reluctance in his actions and perhaps wonders if it holds any special meaning. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Hanzo, it’s that he is quite sentimental. 

With another sigh, Hanzo finally places it on the table. He turns his attention to the gloves, turning them over in his hands before looking at Jesse. “Will we be riding horses into town?”

“Sure will. I got a close friend not too far from here who will let us borrow a couple of his horses and won’t ask questions.” Jesse grabs his own black gloves and puts them on. “Do you have any experience in riding?”

“I do,” Hanzo answers, sliding them on. “I have been riding horses since I was five years old.”

“Started young,” Jesse murmurs. He looks at Hanzo and smiles, glad that he hasn’t complained about this situation, and feels a warmness in his chest that he shared that little bit of information about his childhood. He didn’t have to, and it seems their earlier conversation is working wonders. “We won’t need to teach you anythin’, and we’ll be on the move faster.”

Hanzo nods and looks out the window in the living area. The desert is glowing a rich red as the sun creeps up over the horizon, casting the rocks and foliage in long shadows. “Earlier, when I was meditating,” Hanzo murmurs, still looking out the window, “I was communing with the Dragon of the South Wind.” He pauses, before turning to face Jesse. “The dragon I carry within me, it is able to communicate with the Dragon of the North Wind.”

“Genji’s dragon?” Jesse guesses.

Hanzo nods. “It is weak, but it is close. They told me something I had not considered.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound good.” 

Hanzo hums. “They suggested that either Genji is incapacitated, or that whoever has him has found a way to muzzle him.”

Jesse frowns and shakes his head, trying to comprehend the statement. He pictures Genji with an actual muzzle over his face like an animal, and surely that’s not what Hanzo means. “Muzzled? How?”

“An ancient spell, recited by a clan elder.” Hanzo pauses and frowns. “It is unsettling, because if your father has someone who knows of this spell, we could be in trouble.”

“Do you know how to un-muzzle Genji?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Hanzo sighs. “That knowledge is only imparted to the clan elders.”

“Can you be muzzled?”

“If they are able to capture me, impart their magic on my irezumi,” he squeezes his left forearm, “then yes, I can be muzzled also.”

Jesse brings a hand up to his face, stroking his chin. Considering a large part of the plan hinges on Hanzo being able to use his dragons, this could be a problem. “All right, we’ll just have to make sure you don’t get close to anyone.”

Hanzo smirks, a cocky smirk that suits him so perfectly, accompanied by the raise of his right eyebrow. “Then it is a good thing that I excel at ranged assassination.”

Jesse nods, leaning against the table with an elbow. Confidence suits him so damn well too. “All right, if we leave now, we might be able to catch the breakfast rush before headin’ in for a proper look. The food will be awful, and the coffee worse, but we can stop if you were hungry.”

Hanzo visibly swallows and grimaces. “No, thank you. I will be happy to wait until we make it back to the boat.”

“All right, jus’ warnin’ ya,” Jesse drawls with a smirk. He stands up, gesturing Hanzo to the door with the flick of his head. “Come on, let’s get a move on.”


	7. One Shot

They approach the house on foot. It’s a small, simple house; made from timber with black wooden shingles on the roof. Smoke is billowing out of three separate chimneys, making the little cottage that bit more homely. 

The morning is still cold even though the sun is warm on Jesse’s face. He casts his eyes over at the large stables behind the house. His old friend, now in retirement, breeds horses to keep himself busy. 

They climb the wooden steps leading up to the porch. Jesse approaches the front door and knocks. He glances at Hanzo, about to warn him that his friend is a larger-than-life individual. That he likes hugs and laughter and is just an all-round gentle giant, and that Hanzo shouldn’t be taken aback by his exuberance.

That is, until the door swings open before Jesse can even pull his hand back. 

“Young Jesse!” the large German exclaims as he outstretches his arms.

“Reinhardt,” Jesse responds, embracing the man. When Jesse steps away, he chuckles at Reinhardt's appearance; while the white undershirt and black trousers are expected, it's the floral embroidered apron he's wearing over the top; comically small on his large frame. Jesse smirks and looks up at the giant who has a full head in height over him; there ain’t many folks who are taller than Jesse, and Reinhardt happens to be one of them. “How have you been, my friend?” Jesse asks with a clap on Reinhardt’s back.

“Very well!” Reinhardt exclaims, voice booming. He looks at Hanzo. “And who is this? A new boyfriend?”

Jesse looks at Hanzo, then at Reinhardt, shaking his head. “No. No, no, no. Not my… He’s a…” he trails off and looks at Hanzo, suddenly at a loss as to what their disguise was. He pulls his shirt away from his neck; when did it get so warm? “He’s a business associate,” Jesse blurts out, pulling himself together as he looks back at Reinhardt. He takes a breath, straightening his coat. “We have a mutual interest.” He turns to face Hanzo, unsure of how to introduce him. They hadn’t discussed an alias. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

Hanzo bows. “I am Shimada Hanzo.”

Jesse bites back a scoff, completely taken aback that Hanzo used his actual name given the secrecy from earlier. Perhaps he doesn’t see Reinhardt as a threat?  

Reinhardt offers a hand. “Ah, Shimada. I am Reinhardt Wilhelm. Lovely to meet you!”

Hanzo accepts Reinhardt’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Though please, call me Hanzo.” 

Reinhardt laughs, placing his hands on his belly and throwing his head back. When the roar dies down, he places a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, chuckling, “Jesse, I like this one.” He steps to his side, gesturing them in to his house. “Please, come in. We are just about to sit down for breakfast, and you know me, I make enough for an army!”

Jesse looks at Hanzo and smirks, “Won’t even have to endure the slop they serve in town.” He plucks his hat off his head and walks into the house. It’s all wood furnishings which Reinhardt built himself during his breaks at the lumber mill on the other side of town. He told him that this house is almost an exact replica of his home in Germany.

Though those aren’t what catches his eye. It is the immense amount of floral décor. Paintings, fine china hidden behind a glass cabinet, vases of flowers dotted all throughout the living room and dining room, filling the room with a gentle floral fragrance. It wasn't in the house the last time Jesse was here, and it's all so unlike Reinhardt.

They step through into the dining room and take a seat at the table as Reinhardt walks into the kitchen, fussing over the food cooking on the stove. The smell drifting out is absolutely delicious. 

“Tea for everyone?” Reinhardt calls out.

Jesse looks at Hanzo who nods. “Two cups, please Reinhardt.” He opens his satchel, pulling out the controller and analysing the display; four small purple dots surround the blue dot. “The spiders are in position surrounding Genji. We know his exact location.”

Hanzo nods as a woman enters the dining room and takes a seat at the table. She’s also older, probably the same age as Reinhardt, grey hair in a long braid resting on one shoulder. Potentially battle-worn, she has an eyepatch over her right eye which is mostly covered by her hair and doesn’t dress like other ladies of her age; instead wearing a long blue cardigan, plain black shirt and black trousers. Jesse doesn’t recognise her as one of the townsfolk, and looking at the jewelled flower brooch on her lapel, that would explain the décor.

“Reinhardt, darling, I was unaware we were having guests,” she calls out while looking at Jesse. She has an accent, something Near Eastern. Egyptian, Jesse guesses.

Reinhardt lets out another belly laugh as he approaches with two plates full of scrambled eggs, sausages and baked beans, placing the plates in front of Jesse and Hanzo. “My love. This is the famous Jesse McCree I always tell you about and his…” He looks at Jesse for a brief moment, “…business associate, you say? Hanzo.” He places a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “And this is my beloved, Ana.”

Jesse smiles, outstretching his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” She shakes his hand, surprised by her firm grip, followed by Hanzo’s. Jesse looks at Reinhardt, grinning, “I’d never thought I’d see the day, Reinhardt. When did this happen?”

“Two years,” Ana answers as Reinhardt heads back into the kitchen.

“And how did you meet?” Jesse asks.

“I visited Santa Fe for research into Native American architecture for my lectures. I bumped into Reinhardt on the street and he gave me a grand tour of the town. I have been here ever since.”

Reinhardt approaches with a tray containing the two remaining plates and a pot of tea with four teacups, decorated with flowers of pinks, purples and blues. They look expensive and ridiculously small in Reinhardt’s large hands. Reinhardt takes a seat as Ana pours the tea, placing them on saucers and handing them around.

“So, what brings you back to Santa Fe?” Reinhardt asks.

“Business,” Hanzo answers, poking his sausage with his fork. 

“What has Gabriel been up to these days?” Jesse asks with somewhat reluctance.

Reinhardt pauses as he holds his fork up to his mouth, eggs wobbling on top. “You have business with Gabriel?” 

“We think he has somethin’ that doesn’t belong to him. We’re going to get it back,” Jesse answers, taking a leaf out of Hanzo’s book and leaving his answer intentionally vague.

“Is it wise to face him again?” Reinhardt asks softly, softer than Jesse has ever heard him speak. “You didn’t fare well the last time your paths crossed.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jesse says abruptly, not wanting to get lost in the memory. “Has he expanded much in the last few years?”

“No, he has stayed quiet, actually.” Reinhardt stabs his sausage with his fork, holding it up to his mouth. “Your encounter must have stopped him from whatever grandiose plans he had.” He looks at the sausage before taking a sizable bite of it.

Jesse shakes his head. “He did more damage to me than I did to him. If he has what we’re after, it could only be the beginning.”

“And what is it exactly that you think he has?” Ana asks, looking at Hanzo. Jesse can’t be certain, but he thinks she hasn’t broken her gaze from him since the conversation shifted to Gabriel.

Hanzo looks at Ana and sits up straight. “Something which belongs to my family.”

Ana nods. “Something? Or someone?”

Hanzo narrows his eyes. “What do you know of this?”

“Just rumours that he has someone quite powerful in his possession,” Ana answers, matter-of-factly, “Those rumours also say that his brother is coming to rescue him.”

“Damnation,” Jesse curses under his breath. He shakes his head; this isn’t good. He looks between Reinhardt and Ana. “I wanted to keep the details from you. To protect you. Seems like you have information we need,” he sighs.

“That is most of all the information I know,” Ana admits. She then narrows her eyes, looking at Hanzo. “Also, that the person Gabriel has can control a dragon, which he wants for himself.”

“All this for your dragons?” Jesse asks rhetorically to Hanzo. “Can he even extract them and control them?”

Hanzo looks at Jesse. “I am not certain. If the elders can grant someone a dragon, then it would be assumed they can remove them, too.”

“These are rumours, after all,” Reinhardt states.

“Rumours which happen to be true,” Jesse mumbles, poking his eggs with his fork before shovelling them in his mouth.

“Well, is there anything we can do to help?” Reinhardt asks.

“If you don’t mind,” Jesse replies before swallowing his food, “we’d love to borrow a couple of your horses.”

“Of course,” Ana responds. “Anything else? We could provide assistance.”

“No,” Jesse says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to get you folks in any trouble.” He places a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, smirking. “Hanzo reassures me that his dragon will be enough.”

Hanzo nods confidently. “It  _ will _ be enough.”

Reinhardt breaks into another big laugh. “Oh, young Jesse. He is a confident one. He reminds me of me when I was his age!”

“Young and cocky?” Ana smiles at Reinhardt, placing her hand on top of his.

“The very same,” he purrs as he leans in, gently kissing her.

Jesse smiles, watching his old friend, someone so large and imposing, show affection. “You’re such a gentle giant, Reinhardt.”

They laugh over breakfast, discussing Jesse’s last three years all over Europe, his plans to expand into East Asia, before finishing on the journey with Hanzo on the boat. 

“Jesse was quite the ‘perfect gentleman’,” Hanzo answers Reinhardt’s question with a smile. “He was very accommodating, and did the best he could to ensure my stay on his boat was comfortable.” He looks at Jesse and bows his head.

“Thank you, Hanzo,” Jesse says, looking at Reinhardt with a smug face. 

“And you two say you are not boyfriends,” Reinhardt laughs, picking up his teacup and drinking the rest of it. 

Jesse glances at Hanzo sheepishly, and Hanzo does nothing more than smile and wave his hand. It’s good, it seems Hanzo is taking his comments in jest.

Reinhardt places the cup and saucer on the tray before collecting the rest of the empty cups and plates. “Go on without me,” Reinhardt says as he stands up. “I will meet you outside when I have cleaned up.” He kisses Ana on the head before he carries the dishes into the kitchen.

With a nod, they follow Ana outside and head out to the stable. She opens the double doors, revealing twelve stalls, six on each side of the barn. The sun streaming in through the door is the only source of light save for the windowed doors on the other side, saddles and bridles mounted on the wall. 

The smell of hay and horses explodes Jesse’s senses and he smiles—it is a smell he didn’t realise he had missed until now. They follow Ana to two horses, their stalls side by side. They approach her when she stands at the doors, giving the both of them a pat on the muzzle. 

Jesse looks at Hanzo, looking like a kid on Christmas with the biggest smile on his face while petting the black horse.

“It seems you will be riding Buttercup,” Ana says to Jesse, gesturing with her hand to the brown horse. “Go on, get to know her.”

“Hey girl,” Jesse breathes, patting the horse’s mane. She neighs softly, tapping her foot on the ground. 

“And Hanzo,” Ana says, directing her attention to Hanzo, “this is Stormcloud.”  

Jesse nearly scoffs at the absolutely perfect name for a horse that Hanzo could ride. If the smirk is any indication, he is having the same thought. 

“My horse at home looks much like this one,” Hanzo says, grinning from ear to ear. “A loyal companion.”

“Yes,” Ana says immediately, “these are our fastest and most loyal horses. And I will have your head, Jesse, if anything happens to them.”

“Me?” Jesse scoffs, looking from Ana to a completely smug looking Hanzo. “What about him?”

“Hanzo is our guest,” Ana says with a wink to Hanzo. “You are a friend who has been absent for too long and who has barely been in contact with Reinhardt.” She takes a step forward. “He has been worried sick about you.”

Jesse throws his hands up in front of him. “All right, I’ll keep in contact with Reinhardt from now on.”

“Excellent,” she smiles, taking a couple of backsteps to the back of the barn before turning around. She drapes two bridles over her shoulder and picks two saddles, but before she even turns to walk back, Jesse walks to relieve her of one saddle. “Thank you, dear. Reinhardt tells me you know your way around horses?”

“Yeah, I used to do cattle herding back in the day.” Jesse looks at the horses, smiling. “I miss it sometimes.”

“Well, here you go,” she says, placing a bridle over the saddle in Jesse’s hands before walking back to Hanzo. 

Jesse looks at the equipment in his hands, chuckling. He tacks up the horse, recalling the skill from when he used to do it every day in his teens and early twenties. He glances at Hanzo every now and then, brushing the horse’s mane and coat and Jesse is certain that smile has not left his face. 

With both horses tacked up, she hands Hanzo the reins and leads them out of the stable. Jesse follows behind Hanzo and his eyes settle on Reinhardt as Ana wraps an arm around his waist.

“An excellent choice in horses, my love,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head. 

“I certainly thought so too,” she replies, placing a hand on his chest. 

Jesse smirks, pulling the scanner out of the bag for one last look. “Genji still hasn’t moved,” he breathes, placing it back in his satchel.

“Stay safe, you two,” Reinhardt says, concern heavy in his voice, outstretching his arms. Jesse accepts the hug. “We will, big guy. See you on the return trip.”

Hanzo offers his hand, to which Reinhardt ignores, embracing him. Jesse can’t help but smile, watching Hanzo tense up from the contact. He looks Ana who, like Reinhardt, outstretches her arms and Jesse embraces her. 

“Are you sure you don’t want assistance?” Ana asks.

“Yeah. I’m sure Reinhardt would kill me if anything happened to you. Thank you for your offer, though.”

She kisses Jesse’s cheek before they separate, grabbing his hands. “You stay safe.”

“Will do,” Jesse smiles and steps away. Ana takes one look at Hanzo, arms outstretched and Hanzo at least this time doesn’t seem as awkward with the hug as with Reinhardt.

They mount the horses and with a final hat tip to Ana and Reinhardt, they begin the journey into town, travelling at full gallop. He thinks about Ana’s words; the rumours surrounding Gabriel and that he has a person in his possession who can control a dragon. He has mostly been in complete denial that he wouldn’t need to face him again, and this pretty much confirms it. A part of him stays hopeful though, a part of him  _ needs  _ to stay hopeful that Gabriel isn’t behind this, that there is someone else at play. 

He tightens his grip on the reins, thinking about how messy this whole situation is becoming. First and foremost, there’s Gabriel. Then there’s the possibility that Genji might be muzzled. He could be incapacitated, and considering Hanzo said that his dragon could feel Genji’s, that must mean that he is alive. The one good thing out of this situation.

Seeing the town in the distance, they slow to a trot. Jesse rolls down the sleeve of his jacket, pulls out the scanner from his satchel bag and follows the crude map past rows of houses until they reach the outskirts Santa Fe Plaza. Slowing to a walk as he places his scanner back in his satchel, they follow the main street. Jesse catches the glinting sparkle from one of the bronze spiders on the roof of the saloon in the distance. Of course, Genji's in a saloon.

Of course, Genji's in  _ that _ saloon.

Continuing their slow approach down the main street of Santa Fe Plaza, Jesse seethes internally; apparently enough for Hanzo to catch on to his mood change.

"What is the matter?"

"That damned saloon, Hanzo,” Jesse says quietly, “the one the spiders are circlin'... That's the saloon Gabriel runs." Jesse is met with silence as they slowly make their way past the saloon. Jesse sideways glances at it, watching from his peripheral vision as he keeps his head low. The small, curved doors do nothing to dampen the sound of music and hollering coming from inside. It seems Gabriel has changed the saloon to be open all day, every day, considering it is just past ten in the morning and the place is full of people.

"I would presume Genji is in the second storey," Hanzo says coolly once they have passed the saloon.

"I'd bet on it, Hanzo." Jesse shakes his head, reaching into his breast pocket and grabbing his cigar. It's the stump, the remnants from over two days ago he was carrying around with him. It's well and truly past its prime, but blazes he needs something to chew on, and he ain't got chewing tobacco. He places it between his teeth and the flavour at least is enough to calm his racing mind, to put a cap on his anger. He needs a cool head. He needs to make a plan. He needs to get Genji out, alive and well and he needs to do that while making sure he and Hanzo also make it out safely.

They continue their slow walk down the street and Jesse looks at all the shopfronts: the saloons, the butchers, the clothing stores and the candy shops. Jesse looks into every one and wonders how many of them are under Gabriel's influence. He'd wager all of them, if his parting words were anything to go by.

_ "You're just a filthy ingrate, Jesse McCree. Just like your father. We could have had it all. You love this town so much? I'll tear it down. Every single person will turn against you. One day... One day, my boy, we will meet again. And on that day, it's either you or me who will live to see a new day." _

"Jesse?"

Jesse shakes his head, coming back to reality. They've stopped moving. He looks down at his shoulder, feeling the tightness from Hanzo's grip. He looks at Hanzo, eyebrows knitted together in concern. "I'm all right," Jesse breathes; the throbbing pulse in his ears fades away and panic disappears. He nods; he knows the conversation they need to have.

Ignoring the sensible part of him telling him the cigar isn't worth smoking, that it'll be stale and taste like shit, he grabs out his tin of matches, striking the leather of the saddle and igniting the match. He puffs on the cigar to ignite the tip, and as expected, the flavour which fills his mouth is stale, like he's licked clothing bathed in cigar smoke. He exhales and gives the horse a gentle tap with his feet to continue walking again.

He takes another puff of the cigar, filling his mouth with the smoke before exhaling again. "All right," he nods, looking at the desert in front of them. Shops behind them, they walk until the town is way in the distance, where no one else can hear what Jesse has to say. He takes one long, final puff of the cigar and looks at the horizon, focusing on where desert meets sky. It’s a still day; a perfect spring day. The sun isn’t too warm, but warm enough.  Exhaling, he lets the cigar extinguish itself between his knuckles.

"All right," Jesse breathes, before clearing his throat and focusing on the mountains in the distance. "His name is Gabriel Reyes. He prefers to go by Gabe but I never give him the satisfaction. He and my pa were friends. Pa told me that the aether has been in my family for generations, near on two hundred years. Told me I was just the first McCree to be smart enough to do somethin' with it.” He tightens his grip on the reigns. "Gabriel, on the other hand, tells me that  _ he _ discovered it, that my pa crossed him, killed him in the very cave the aether was mined.” He pauses and closes his eyes, brings his voice down to a whisper. “He told me that he's my actual father. That he and my ma had an affair. He told me that with his... powers, we can get famous together because he has rightful claim to the aether."

"What powers do you speak of?"

"His name is Gabriel Reyes, though around these parts, he calls himself ‘The Reaper’. Likes to hide in the shadows. Wears a long black cloak and keeps his face hidden under the brim of his hat." Jesse shakes his head, looking at the extinguished tip of the cigar between the knuckles of his prosthetic. "He can move like smoke. Dissipate, I guess is the word... He can disappear into smoke and reappear in human form." Jesse brings his flesh hand up to his throat, grasping with tightness. "He can feel solid, like a flesh and blood human being, but he can also disappear in a puff of smoke."

"Can he be maimed?"

"I put six bullets in him and he's still standin'." He looks at Hanzo, then at the case on his back. "I don't imagine arrows doin' much damage either."

Hanzo looks at the horizon. "Perhaps my dragons will be able to stop him."

"Let's hope so, Hanzo. ‘Cause the Reaper is dangerous. And he won't stop until he's got what he wants."

"You," Hanzo says. A statement, not a question.

"Me. You, too. He could have sought me out wherever I was. He's not tied to this town. But not only was I summoned in Genji’s note..." Jesse looks at Hanzo. "You were too."

Hanzo closes his eyes and shakes his head, before opening his eyes, realisation giving way to anger. "I was, too."

Jesse nods. "The note asked for you. And since it seems Ana’s rumours were more than rumours, I’d wager that the Reaper wants your dragons too. Genji's forehead protector was the bait." He looks from Hanzo and to the horizon, anger thick on his voice. "And we took it. Damnation!" He shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to keep his anger in check. A hot head won’t do anyone any favours. "Who knows that you can control dragons?"

"Members of the clan. Family. The elders."

Jesse opens his eyes and looks at Hanzo, offering a small smile. "And a few rich folk who have nothin' better to do with their time then to gossip."

Raising an eyebrow, Hanzo asks, "What exactly do these 'rich folk' know?"

Jesse smiles at the repetition of his words. It brings his anger down. "It's all rumours and hearsay. Some say that you Shimadas  _ are  _ dragons in human form."

"They are not completely wrong. I can feel the dragons within," Hanzo says, looking down at his left arm, pulling up his sleeve and revealing the dragon's maw. "I can commune with the Dragon of the South Wind. Though I cannot physically transform into a dragon, I can channel myself through them. I can tell the dragons which enemies to consume by telling them who are friends and who are foes."

"So you can unleash them and they know who to kill and who to keep safe?"

Hanzo nods. "Yes. It is a useful resource."

"Right, that’s good to know.” Jesse nods. While he is apprehensive of being in the path of one, he trusts Hanzo enough that if it were to happen, he will be safe. “Well, those same folk who say that you lot are dragons in human form, also say that no one lives to speak of them. That when you cross paths with a Shimada, you’re a dead man."

Hanzo looks at Jesse, confusion giving way to laughter. It truly is a beautiful sight when Hanzo laughs, and on the rare times he laughs, Jesse catches himself staring. He notes the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way his chest heaves up and down with each breath, the hearty sound of it. Everything about it is pure bliss. After a moment, his laughter dies down, and he takes a breath before asking, "Then how are these stories spread?"

Jesse grins. "That's why you shouldn't take heed of these rumours. They're nonsense."

"Though a powerful motivator if someone like the Reaper believes in them," Hanzo says solemnly, bringing them back to reality.

Jesse inhales and exhales deeply. He pulls on the horse's reigns, turning the horse around and facing the town once more. "All right. There are unspoken rules regarding behaviour in a saloon." He looks at Hanzo. "First, it’ll be best that you keep your head down as much as you can. These folks... they won't take too kindly to folks of... Eastern appearance."

Hanzo nods slowly.

"We're going to have to buy a drink. Don't nurse it. Don't sip it. Drink it with meaning. One shot. If they catch you nursin' it, it'll draw attention."

"How much drinking will be required?"

"More than I would like, but we can't just go in guns blazing."

Hanzo nods again.

"It looks like the kind of place that has women under their employ. Expect to be bothered by them. To be touched by them."

Hanzo throws Jesse a straight-up look of shock; his eyes wide and mouth open. 

"It's all right,” Jesse says quickly, “they'll only touch your shoulder or arm, or knee. You can tell them you're not interested, that you're just passin' through. Just in town for a drink. They won't bother you from there."

Hanzo shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, akin to shrugging his shoulders like he's been touched. "I do not like to be touched by strangers," he says flatly.

"I'll do my best to stop them from touchin' you, darlin’," Jesse smirks. 

Hanzo looks at him, scowling, then his features soften into a smile before he bows his head slightly. "I appreciate the effort."

Jesse nods. “Just follow my lead and we should be able to navigate our way through there without much resistance.”

Hanzo looks at the town. “I am sure I will manage.”

"How quick can you get your bow out of the case and ready? Cause we might need it in a hurry if things start to escalate quickly."

"I should be able to be ready in two, maybe three seconds at a maximum."

"Including taking off your jacket?" Jesse asks, and Hanzo nods. Jesse nods in approval; he can move fast. "It should be good enough." Jesse casts his eyes back at the town, at the sparkle on the roof of the saloon. He takes a deep breath. "All right, Hanzo. It's now or never. Let's get Genji."

They start their slow approach into town and stay in silence. Jesse would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Nervous was probably an understatement. Anxious is more like it. Anxious at the thought of everything falling apart. Anxious that Genji, or Hanzo, or himself, would be killed. 

Anxious at the thought of seeing Gabriel again.

They stop outside the saloon; the sound of piano and laughter and hollering carries out. Tying the horses on the hitching post, Jesse closes his eyes and gets into the mind of the persona he’s created for himself. The vaquero, passing through town looking for a business deal. Entering this saloon to celebrate. The vaquero has money to burn and he and his business associate are here to celebrate. Even though it is mid-morning, these establishments prove it’s never too early to drink.

He opens his eyes and nods, looks at Hanzo and enters the saloon, pushing open the doors and holding them for Hanzo. 

The saloon is exactly what Jesse expects, given all the time he’s spent in them during his years. The first thing that hits him is the cigar smoke extremely thick in air; a hazy cloud hanging low from the ceiling. The harsh sting causes his eyes to water, and the amount of smoke present is enough for Jesse to swear that he’ll never smoke again. He glances at Hanzo who stands by his side and does his best to keep his eyes hidden from view, under the shadow of his hat. A good thing for the moment.

The bar runs along the right side of the saloon. Three people are sitting at it, one talking to the barkeep and the other two with their backs facing him, looking at the entertainment. Between a handful of tables and the bar is a piano player, sitting in the immediate left corner of the saloon, playing some tune Jesse doesn’t recognise. He is more of a classical music man himself, enjoying the likes of Bach and Beethoven. Whatever the piece is, it’s something popular, with women dancing in choreography with the tune beside the piano player, a small audience in front of them, cheering and hollering with every twist, kick and flash of skin the women show. 

The women seem to be for entertainment purposes only, and glancing at the small number around the saloon, sitting next to the men they are keeping company, hands in pretty conspicuous places, either on shoulders or on tables. Saloon girls, it seemed, not scarlet ladies. That makes things easier at least.

On the far wall next to the bar is a small stairwell, the lady of the house watching from about halfway up. She is older, her grey hair is tied up, tight ringlets hanging from the red ribbon which matches her red dress. Her eyes are squarely on Jesse, and he tips his hat as to not arouse suspicion. He’s praying now that he doesn’t get recognised.

Jesse takes a good look at the tables dotting the saloon. There is one table of men playing Faro off to the far left of the room, too distracted to know what’s happening around them. A few saloon girls have the attention of some of the other men closer to the bar, keeping them and their money in this saloon. While those men are also too distracted to notice them, the saloon girls definitely have.

Jesse quickly counts the people in the saloon; ten men and five women, fifteen people in all and not too hard a number to have to deal with if things go south. Jesse would stake that half of these men would be too drunk to fight, and the women wouldn’t risk getting caught in any crossfire. That will work in their favour.

Jesse approaches the empty space at the bar, just beside the stairwell. The wooden floors shift and creak under each of Jesse’s steps, years of neglect are starting to show. Jesse takes a seat and Hanzo sits on his right, keeping his head low. When Jesse sees the barkeep approach, he rests his flesh elbow on the bar, lifts the brim of his hat up with a single finger and grins, ensuring confidence radiates off him.

“What’ll it be?” The barkeep asks.

“Only the finest bourbon for me and my friend here,” Jesse says, patting Hanzo on the back. Hanzo nods and looks at the barkeep, but keeps his eyes hidden under the shadow of the brim of his hat. Smart.

The barkeep grabs the bottle from the shelf behind him and two whiskey tasters, pouring the bourbon into each glass. Jesse holds up his glass to Hanzo and toasts, “To a new partnership,” giving Hanzo a nod before drinking the lot in one shot. He watches as Hanzo drinks the lot too, and doesn’t react to the alcohol. Good. 

Placing the glass on the table with a bit of weight so the glass makes a satisfactory  _ thunk _ , Jesse smirks at the barkeep. “Next we’ll have beer, the most expensive you’ve got.” The barkeep nods, grabbing two stemmed beer glasses and pours beer from the keg behind him. Jesse pays the barkeep for the drinks, grabbing their beers and heading to one of the empty tables.

“Good job with the bourbon,” Jesse whispers as they sit down. “You didn’t react like I thought you would have.”

“I am no stranger to strong liquor,” Hanzo grins. He looks at the beer, and his grin fades. “And what of… this?” Hanzo asks, eyebrow cocked, picking up his amber liquid and taking a sniff. He does his best to maintain a neutral face, but Jesse can see the slight wrinkling of his nose at it.

“Best to drink this as fast as you can too. It’ll get too warm and flat otherwise,” Jesse says with a smirk, taking a few gulps. He looks at the glass in somewhat approval; it ain’t as bad as he’s had in the past. Hanzo follows his lead, only managing a gulp before placing the glass back on the table.

“This is truly disgusting,” Hanzo says with the shake of his head.

“A spirits man,” Jesse smirks.

Hanzo nods. He glances at the stairwell before looking at Jesse. “How would you suppose we get up there without raising suspicion?”

Jesse glances over his shoulder then back at Hanzo, “Gettin’ up there is going to be a challenge. We’ll work something out. A distraction, perhaps.” Jesse takes a few more gulps of his beer, over halfway done now. He looks at Hanzo, then at his beer, and Jesse can see the pain in the man’s eyes as he drinks another gulp. “When we get back to the boat, we’ll crack open a bottle of sake. You’ll have earned it after this.”

Hanzo nods and takes two more gulps. He places his beer on the table and clears his throat, glancing behind Jesse before casting his eyes low, adjusting his hat to cover his eyes. Jesse turns his head slightly, looking in his peripheral vision and can hear the clack of high heels on wood.

“Well, howdy fellas,” the busty blonde woman greets, taking a seat between them. Jesse looks at her for a moment, tight ringlets tied up in a high ponytail, expensive looking purple velvet dress. “What’re you here for?”

“Just celebrating a business partnership,” Jesse says, leaning back in his seat.

“Oh, is that right?” She asks suggestively, placing a hand on Hanzo’s bicep. He looks at her and nods and then looks at his beer. Jesse can see the sheer discomfort on his face, from his furrowed brow to his curled lip, not only from being touched but from having to finish the drink. He hesitates briefly before picking up the glass and drinking all of it in a series of quick gulps.

“Yep, that’s right. Just here for a drink. Nothin’ more.” Jesse tries to end the conversation, but it seems she is not interested in leaving.

“The name’s Elizabeth,” she introduces herself to Hanzo, holding out her hand. “And what’s your name?”

“Look, sweetheart,” Jesse tries again, tone a little bit more forceful, “we’re not interested. We’re just here for a drink is all.” 

She looks at him, then at Hanzo, before standing up. “Fine.” She places a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper something in his ear before she stands up to her full height and walks back to the bar.

Jesse looks at Hanzo, cheeks red and looking like he’s in a state of shock, and all Jesse can do is grin. “She proposition you?”

Hanzo looks at him, then at his empty glass almost longingly. “I thought you said that they would not get that close.”

“I guessed wrong. I guess Gabriel employs both saloon girls and painted ladies.” Jesse chuckles. “So, can I get you another drink, then?”

Hanzo visibly relaxes and nods, then looks at his glass. “Anything but that.”

“All right. Be right back.” Jesse stands up and finishes his beer, before approaching the bar once more. Asking for another two glasses of bourbon, the barkeep pours them and Jesse pays, before grabbing them and sitting back with Hanzo. “Here you go.” Jesse holds up his glass again and they clink. Jesse brings the glass up to his mouth and that’s when he realises that something is wrong. The music has stopped playing. The conversation has stopped. The laughter has stopped. It’s silent. Dead silent.

Hanzo has picked up on it too. Not moving, only checking around him in his peripheral vision. Jesse’s stomach drops when he notices  _ everyone  _ around him staring. Staring with black eyes. Black as the night sky.

“What in blazes…” Jesse mutters, the only thought he has before the sound of clapping carries from behind him. It’s a slow clap accompanied with heavy footsteps, and given the echo, Jesse guesses it's coming from upstairs. His suspicions are confirmed when he hears the telltale creak of stairs under heavy weight. 

“Ah… I was wondering when you two would show up.”

Jesse winces at the voice; that deep, guttural growl that’s haunted his nightmares. He brings a hand up to his throat before turning around to face the man. He’s dressed much the same as Jesse and Hanzo are now, though in all black. Stetson, shirt underneath a long buttoned up coat that goes to the floor with trousers and boots. All of it black. 

And just like Hanzo, his eyes are obscured by the shadow of the brim of the hat. 

“Not goin’ all theatrical on me, Gabriel?” Jesse says with confidence. Confidence will get him out of this. Confidence will save Genji and get their asses out of here alive.

“Jesse, Jesse...” Gabriel shakes his head. “What did I say about callin’ me by my first name? You know I prefer to be called  _ Papi _ .”

Jesse turns in his seat, resting his weight on his elbow on the table. He shrugs and shakes his head. “Naw, never much liked that.”

Gabriel approaches them, sitting in the seat between them. He looks at Hanzo and outstretches his hand. It’s only this close that Jesse can see his eyes, his black as black eyes that match everyone else. “Gabe Reyes. Jesse’s _Papi_.” Hanzo only looks at his hand and by no means entertains the idea of shaking it. “Oh?” Gabriel looks at Jesse, pointing at Hanzo with a finger. “Easily offended, this one.” Gabriel laughs. “Don’t worry, I haven’t hurt your brother... Much!”

“You will pay for what you have done!” Hanzo says angrily, slamming his fists on the table and standing up. Jesse can see the glow of his tattoo under his sleeve.

“Oh, sit down!” Gabriel growls. He looks at Jesse. “This one has a temper too, doesn’t he?”

“To be fair, you kidnapped his brother,” Jesse throws back, anger thick in his voice. 

“He has something I want,” Gabriel says nonchalantly as he looks back at Hanzo. “You know, those dragons you keep to yourselves.” He grabs Hanzo’s left hand. Hanzo tries to pull away but Gabriel’s too strong. He pulls up Hanzo’s sleeve, revealing the dragon projecting off his tattoo, hissing. “Ah, there you are,” he coos. “So pretty, aren’t they?”

Jesse doesn’t have time to think. So he does the first thing that comes to mind, and that’s to punch Gabriel in the face. He doesn’t move, hell, he doesn’t even react but Jesse feels like he’s punched the side of his boat. Gabriel throws him a look of anger and with a single, hard punch, punches Jesse in the chest, sending him flying off his chair and crashing onto the floor. Jesse coughs and struggles to breathe, winded from the impact. He holds a hand to his chest as the metallic tinge of blood fills his mouth. Not good.

Gabriel stands up and approaches Jesse; slow, heavy footsteps get closer before he crouches on the floor and grabs a handful of Jesse’s shirt, pulling him off the ground. Gabriel grins, baring his yellow teeth. “You never were one to think before you act, son. Just like William. I would have taught you better.”

And with that, Jesse has Gabriel right where he wants him. He looks at Hanzo who is slipping out of his jacket and reaching for his bow case. Cocksure of his next move, Jesse winks.

“Hanzo, run!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“They mount the horses and with a final hat tip to Ana and Reinhardt, they begin the journey into town, travelling at full gallop."_
> 
> [The next piece of Aredes' art is just gorgeous!!](http://aredesification.tumblr.com/post/172090613934/p-bronze-blue-story-by-chilliebean5-and-art)
> 
> **History Alert!**  
>  \--The Near East is what the Middle East is classified as now, and both terms are still used interchangeably.  
> \--Saloon girls were employed to keep patrons company, to ensure they stay in the saloon. Scarlet ladies and painted ladies were slang terms for prostitutes. Not many saloons had them, and generally the lower end saloons which were open 24/7 employed prostitutes. I used [this article](https://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-saloons/) when writing this saloon.


	8. Fear the Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong warning for graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore and body horror in this chapter.

“This,” Gabe says, nodding and looking at his cigar while exhaling the smoke slowly. “This is what life’s all about.” He kicks out a chair and rests his feet on it, crossing them at the ankles.

“Hmm,” William agrees, looking at the burning tip of his cigar. “Haven’t had a Cuban in a long time.” He pours the both of them another whiskey, knocking it back and pouring another. “So tell me, you still fucking that Morrison fella?”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “Jack and I are business partners.”

“You jus’ keep tellin’ yourself that,” William drawls. “You two were the talk of the town after Old Joe caught the two o’ you in the outhouse.”

Gabe puffs on his cigar, savouring the flavour before exhaling. He leans on an elbow, pointing at William, cigar between his knuckles. “Old Joe is a drunk coot who doesn’t know what he saw.”

“Care to explain then?” William smirks.

Gabe picks up his glass and drinks the lot, pouring himself and William another. “Why,” he smirks, “are you sizing up the competition?”

“Papa! Papa!” the boy squeals, running in from outside so fast the door slams against the wall. He holds the oversized hat on his head in place to stop it from covering his eyes. William picks him up and sits him in his lap, taking the hat off and placing it on the table. “Look what I found,” the boy says excitedly, holding up a rusted horseshoe.

“Ah, that’ll bring you good luck,” William says, taking a look at it.

Gabe squints at the boy; the boy with tanned skin and long, brown shaggy hair, covering his eyes. “Is that little Jesse?”

“Sure is.” William looks at Jesse, kissing the top of his head. “Say hello, son.”

Jesse sweeps the hair out of his eyes and looks at Gabe. “Hi,” he says quietly, a little shy.

Gabe smiles, looking between Jesse and William, noting they look nothing alike. Jesse was certainly his mamá’s boy with the shape of his eyes and mouth and the colour of her skin, even though Jesse’s is still darker... But there is no William in him. None. Jesse doesn’t have the golden hair, the blue eyes, or the pale skin of his father. And then there’s his nose… Jesse’s nose is neither of theirs.

Nodding, Gabe drops his feet back onto the ground and holds his cigar between the knuckles of his left hand. He extends out his right hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Jesse.”

Jesse shakes his hand and smiles. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Ah, you’ve got a nice strong grip. A man’s grip.” Gabe smiles. “You’re a big boy now, aren’t you?”

Jesse nods. “Yes, sir.”

Gabe laughs and strokes his moustache. “Jesus. I haven’t seen you since you were a babe on your mamá’s bosom. How old are you now?”

“Six, sir.”

“Six? Jesus!” Gabe laughs harder, bringing about a coughing fit. He pats his chest with his fist and knocks back his whiskey. “Damn,” he croaks, voice hoarse, “has it been that long?”

“Too long,” William says, looking back at Jesse, kissing his cheek. “Go on.” He places Jesse on the ground, patting his back. “Go show your mamá.”

Jesse nods and smiles, running out of the room and calling for his mamá.

“Cute kid,” Gabe smiles, pouring himself another whiskey and immediately downing it before placing the cigar between his teeth and reaching into his jacket pocket. He places the small glowing purple rock in the centre of the table.

“The fuck is that?” William asks, narrowing his eyes and leaning in for a closer look, poking it with a finger.

“Just something I found,” Gabe smirks. He picks up the rock, tossing it in the air and catching it. “Come on, I’ll show you what it does.” He stands up and walks outside, placing the rock on the ground. He fishes his tin of matches from his trouser pocket and strikes a match against the post of the porch before igniting the rock. He takes a step back, standing next to William and watches it burn for a moment. “Burns longer than coal. Hotter, too.”

William narrows his eyes, smile wide on his face as he looks at Gabe. “Damn. Gabe, this could be the next big thing.”

“Absolutely. Given your pull in the locomotive industry, I was thinking we could go into business together. I’ll mine it and you sell it.”

“Hmm.” William strokes his beard and watches the rock burn for a long moment. “You got more of this?”

Gabe smirks, looking at William. “Plenty more.”

“Care to share?” William grins, raising an eyebrow.

Gabe looks at the aether, then at William. He hesitates; even though they’ve friends for life, a part of him worries about telling him about his discovery. He looks at William, searches his features for a deception of some kind but only sees his friend; he knows he can trust William with anything. “Yeah, I can show you.” Still, he makes a point to add, “No funny business, though!”

William’s expression turns flat. “Gabe. We’ve been friends for how long?”

“Too damn long,” Gabe laughs, patting William on the back. He kicks dirt on the rock until it stops burning before picking it up, tossing it between his hands so it can cool. Holding it up, Gabe looks at the rock, turning it in his hand and watching as it glints from the sun. “No soot either.”

William holds out his hand and Gabe tosses the rock over. William holds it up to the sun before rolling it between his thumb and finger. “What exactly is it?”

“Best word I can think to describe it? Aether.”

William looks at Gabe with a blank face. “You’re using those fancy book words again, Gabe.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ William. The word’s ‘literary’. Would it kill you to read a damned book once in a while?”

William shrugs. “Ain’t got time to read books.”

Shaking his head, Gabe points a finger at William. “You make sure little Jesse reads books. It’s good for his imagination.”

William chuckles, “Yeah, he’s already into short stories and loves the newspaper.”

Gabe nods and smiles. “Good.” He holds out his hand for the rock and William places it in his palm. “So aether. It’s a derivative of the Latin and Greek word for burn.” He looks at it one more time before placing it back in his pocket.

“Huh,” William chuckles. “Clever.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the stash.”

They ride on horseback to the cave not too far from the centre of town. At the mouth of the cave, Gabe picks up the lantern, placing the lump of aether from his pocket inside and lighting it with a match. Leading William in, he follows the cave’s twists and turns before finally entering the large cavern.

William whistles, the echo bounces off the walls for several moments. Countless purple rocks of different lengths and sizes are protruding out of the walls and casting the room in a purple glow.

“Yeah,” Gabe says, smile wide on his face. “Got enough for centuries. We can set up a legacy.”

William nods. He walks up to one of the walls, brushing one of the rocks with his fingers. Taking the pickaxe resting against the wall, he pulls it back behind him, ready to strike.

Gabe reaches out with a hand, holding the handle just below the metal. “Just take it easy. For something that burns as easy, it might be volatile.”

“You thinkin’ something along the lines of explosive, then?”

Gabe shrugs. “It’s just a theory.”

William nods, striking the wall cautiously until a chunk of aether breaks off; catching it in his hand. He eyes the shard, twirling it around. “Could be the next big thing. Better than black powder.”

“Perhaps,” Gabe smiles. He places the lantern on the ground, walking further into the cavern. “This is the only place I’ve found that has it.”

“You told anyone else about it?”

“No, just you.” He turns around, smile wide on his face. “So, what do you think? Want to go into business, partner?” He smiles, holding out his hand.

William looks at his hand, extending his and shaking. “I’ve got an idea, actually.” He pulls Gabe into a hug, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “I’m thinkin’, I’m just gonna take all this for myself.” Gabe looks at him and struggles against him, but William’s grip is too strong. “See, I know Jesse’s not mine. The kid looks nothin’ like me.” He looks Gabe up and down. “Looks a hell of a lot like you, though.”

“William—”

“Save it, you cocksucker. I’m gonna kill you first. Then Mary. Jesse, though. He might not be mine, but he is my son. I raised him as if he was my own flesh and blood.”

Gabe struggles, getting an arm free and pushing William away. He reaches for his gun on the holster on his hip, but is met with a fist to the face. He falls to the ground, hitting his head hard. Groaning, he rubs his jaw as he opens his eyes; the cavern spins, the purple glow from each crystal blends into one giant haze.

He tries to sit up, resting his weight on his elbows but is held in place by a foot pressed against his chest. Falling back to the ground, he holds his hands up in surrender, knowing he is trapped.

William crouches on the ground, now pinning him with his knee. He leans in close, face to face with Gabe. “Did you love her?” he asks in a whisper.

Gabe looks into his eyes, pupils dilated and full of spite. He shakes his head, but is met with more weight on his chest, the pressure making it a struggle to breathe. “Yes,” he manages to gasp. The pressure on his chest relieves slightly, enough for him to inhale sharply. He coughs; the echo reverberates through the cavern.

“Was it one time?”

Gabe takes another breath. Lying will get him killed. Telling him the truth will get him killed, even though he and Mary vowed never to tell another soul. But this; he’s in an unwinnable situation, and maybe the only way he can get out of this is to get William into a blinding rage and take him out. Settling on the truth, he answers, “No.”

William shakes his head and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That lying bitch,” he mutters.

“She told you?”

“We’d been trying for years,” William says, surprisingly calm and dropping his hand to his side. “I’d started to lose hope that I could have kids. Then she fell pregnant. We were happy.” He shakes his head. “For the first time in years, we were happy.” He pauses for a moment and sighs. “I knew he wasn’t mine the second I laid eyes on him, as much as I denied it.” He taps his cheek, adding, “His skin is too tanned, you see. But he looked like his mamá, through and through.” He pauses for a moment, looks at the shard of aether in his hand. “We’d get comments all the time, people questioning whether he was mine. I’d just laugh them off. ‘Of course he was mine, Mary and I are married, she loves me too much to be sleeping around’, I’d tell myself. When he was about four, though, when his features started to change, I thought, ‘finally, now people will know he’s mine’. But he looks like you. Not me. He turned into a little version of you.”

Gabe closes his eyes and shakes his head. So the fuck was smart enough to work it out. He laughs, tapping his nose. “Always had distinguishing features, ‘ey? It’s all in the nose.” He looks back at William, anger thick in his voice, “I loved Mary. _Still_ love Mary. You’re a piece of shit to her. You don’t deserve her.” Using all this strength, he pushes William away and kicks him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. He scrambles for the pickaxe but is tackled by William. Face pressed into the dirt and a knee digging into his back, he breathes out forcefully, sending a cloud of dust puffing away. It takes all his willpower to resist the urge to breathe back in. Then, In a single swift movement, William flips him over and sits on his chest.

“Fuck. You.” William whispers, bringing the shard of aether up above him.

Gabe tries with all his might to stop his hand from coming down, but William was always stronger. Stronger way back when they were kids of just five years old. Stronger when Mary had told him that she hadn’t experienced a touch as gentle as his.

His eyes widen when he can feel the burn in his neck as he swallows. He can feel the warm wet puddle soaking through his clothing. He can see the purple shard jutting from his neck on the corner of his eye.

He looks up at William, choking on blood and gasping for air. He grasps at William’s shirtfront, pawing, trying to pull him down but can’t get a grip. He coughs, sending a spray of blood shooting out of his mouth only to fall back on his face.

Feeling weaker with each passing moment, his arms grow heavier and heavier until it’s too hard to keep them up. He reaches for the shard in his neck, brushing it with his fingertips before his hand falls to the side.

He looks at William as his face slowly fades into the darkness. He tries to breathe, to stay awake, but the darkness envelopes him; warm and inviting. With a final choked gasp, he gives in.

He succumbs to the darkness.

* * *

Gabe wakes up in a fright, shrouded in complete darkness. He tries to remember where he is. How he got here. But he has no memory.

He tries to move, to bring his arms up in front of his face. But he can’t move.

Panic. He then realises there is a weight on top of him, pinning him down.

He tries to breathe. He can’t. Then, a realisation. He doesn’t _need_ to breathe. How can he be alive and not have a need to breathe?

Calming his mind in an effort to bring his panic down, he wiggles his toes. He makes the presumption he is still wearing his boots. He tries to wiggle his fingers, moving them slightly. He can feel grit, dirt between his fingers.

He tries to look around, to move his head, but can’t. With all his strength, he moves his fingers, then his hands, then his arms, pushing upwards. A different sensation now. Air. He can feel the air on his hand.

The dirt on top of him. The air above him. He must have been buried alive.

Thrashing now, he flicks the dirt on top of him away so he can sit up. He looks around the room, but it is dark. He tries to take a breath, but can’t. He brings his arms in front of him, to look at his hands, but the room is as dark as night.

He pushes the dirt off his legs and feet, bringing his knees up to his chest. Bracing on the ground, he tries to stand but falls.

He curses. He needs light.

Patting himself down, he feels his tin of matches in his coat pocket. Fishing out the tin, he plucks one and feels around blindly for a hard surface, feeling the dirt underneath his fingers then finally a rock. He strikes the match, his eyes take a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before he looks around the room.

He is in a cavern. Then his memories come flashing back. Showing the cave to William. The aether. The fight. He brings his hand up to his neck, but there is nothing there. He looks back at the hole in the ground, his shallow grave, nothing there either.

He knows the cave should be glowing purple. It isn’t. He tries to stand up but falls again. Bringing the match down to his feet, his eyes catch his clothing; black and shiny, as if there was a layer of grease on them. He looks at his hand. The flesh that remains is black and decayed, the rest of it is bone; his skeleton.

He panics. He tries to scream but has no voice. The match falls to the ground as his hand gives way to black smoke. He tries to pick it up but there is only smoke where his hand should be.

The match snuffs out, shrouding the cavern in darkness once more.

Moments pass. Gabe is unsure of how many. He tries to grasp at the tin of matches but he can’t. He tries to move, to stand up, but can’t.

He closes his eyes and using all of his focus he thinks about Mary and little Jesse, the need to see them, to see them and make sure they are okay. Finally, like someone has flipped a switch, he feels whole again; feeling the dirt under his fingers once more. He grabs the tin, picking another match and striking it. He stands up, leaning against the wall of the cave for balance; determined to get out of this damned hole.

Slowly and while braced against the wall, he takes a small step. He stumbles, falling to his knees before closing his eyes and focusing, pulling himself to standing. Another small step, he focuses only on putting one foot in front of the other. Relying on memory, he follows the cave’s twists and turns until eventually, he can see the mouth of the cave, the light pouring in from the distance. He smiles; he has finally found the outside world.

He hurries his steps, his feet drag on the dirt beneath him. Chasing the light, he moves closer and closer with each step until finally he is outside.

Dropping the match to the ground, he looks at his hands. His skeletal hands—with patches of black, rotting flesh and clothing stuck to them—are radiating the same black smoke as before; like steam coming off boiling water. He brings his hands up to his face, pressing his cheeks only to find hard bone and teeth. He needs to see his reflection.

Taking a moment to look around, he sees no horses, no signs of life. Following the dirt track, he walks in the direction of the town. It would take him at least a day in his current state, but has no other option.

He walks without stopping. There was no need to sleep as he didn’t get tired. No need to eat as he didn’t get hungry. He was weak, though. Very weak, but not enough to stop.

Finally, he sees a house in the distance. A piece of farmland with cows grazing in the pasture, smoke billowing out of the chimney. Is it cold? He hadn’t noticed.

He sees clothes drying on a clothesline. Plucking a shirt and overalls, he hurriedly puts them on in an attempt to cover as much of his skeletal form as possible.

Then, he hears the click of the hammer of a gun and the press of the barrel between his shoulder blades.

“What you’re doin’ there, friend, is called stealin’,” the man drawls.

Gabe holds up his hands in surrender. “I don’t want to hurt you, but…” he trails off as the barrel of the gun falls.

“What..? What are you?”

Gabe turns around to look at the man, gun shaking in his hands and his mouth gaping open. He looks Gabe up and down as he takes a step backwards, shaking in terror before he comes to his senses and draws the gun back up, aiming it at Gabe’s chest.

Panicking, Gabe closes his eyes. He expects death—a proper death this time because a being shot by a shotgun at close range will tear through anything—but instead, time slows down and his whole body shakes. He opens his eyes to see the flash from the shotgun before the world fades to white. Feeling like he is being torn apart, he screams until there is no more pain. The world returns to normal, albeit dulled as if clouded in a heavy fog. He looks at the man, then at the shotgun, seeing the pellets fly past slowly where he was just standing, following them as they are shot through the man’s clothes drying on the line. Gabe turns to face the man again but he trembles and just as quickly as before he can feel himself being put back together until he is standing whole in front of the man once more.

“Death…” is the man’s last word as Gabe wrestles the gun out of his hands, turning it on the man and shooting him in under his chin. As he falls to the ground, a brown-red orb appears from the gaping hole in the man’s face before shooting into Gabe’s chest.

Gabe is knocked backwards, falling on the cold, wet grass. He pats at his chest frantically, stopping when he sees his hands. He turns them over, looking at his flesh and skin covered palms.

Gabe laughs. He feels strong again. Not as strong as the day he died, but stronger. Much stronger.

Standing up, he looks at the man on the ground who is nothing more but a withered grey husk. When he speaks, it isn’t his voice; it is deep and guttural: “I am death; the collector of souls.”

He picks up the shotgun and looks at the house. He heads inside, into the first room; a bedroom with a mirror. He looks at his reflection, he looks like he did the day he died. Except for his eyes; his completely black eyes with smoke wafting from them. He leans in and looks from side to side, looking for the whites of his eyes, but they're only black. Bringing a hand up to his face, he touches his cheek, and it feels cold underneath his fingertips. 

Picking up the black hat hanging off the corner of the mirror, he adjusts it on his head so it covers his eyes under the shadow of the brim. With a final nod to his new appearance, he makes his way back through the house, noticing a newspaper on the table. He reads the headline, something about a civil war that makes no sense to him but it’s the date that catches his eye: December 11, 1862.

The room spins, just like it did in the cave. He braces himself on the table for balance, trying to keep an overwhelming sense of nausea at bay. He does the math out loud as a distraction and shakes his head at the realisation. “Has it really been twenty-three years?”

Now his appearance starts to make sense, why he was nothing more than a rotting skeleton. The cave being empty, that starts to make sense, too. He looks at his hands before standing up straight, nodding upon realising what his next move is: finding William.

After doing a quick scan of the property, he finds a horse grazing in the pasture, tacked up and tied to the fence. Mounting and leaving the farm behind him, he rides in full gallop before slowing to a trot when he enters the town. He looks at the faces of all the people he passes and he doesn’t recognise a single one.

He rides through the centre of town to William’s house. The same house he felt like he was in just yesterday but in reality was twenty-three years ago. Its years of neglect is showing; the wood is dull and grey, the door and windows boarded up.

He dismounts the horse, tying the reigns around the post of the porch. Grabbing the board over the door, he pulls, taking no effort to rip the nails out. He drops the board on the porch and opens the door, stepping through and looking around.

The first thing his eyes settle on is the table he sat at twenty-three years ago, wiping a finger along the top of it as he walks, picking up the dust. He balls it up between his finger and thumb before wiping it on his clothes. From there, he heads into the master bedroom, looking the bed he and Mary laid in countless times before thirty years ago.

He leans on the doorframe, thinking about Mary, then little Jesse. Stomach dropping, he races into the second bedroom. He looks around, expecting children’s toys, drawings; expecting the room of a six-year-old. But instead, he sees the room that would have belonged to a teenager – full sized bed, sheets messy, an old pair of overalls and shirt bundled in a corner, an old toolbox sitting on a table.

Gabe flicks through the now rusty tools, trying to piece together what he could from the clues left behind. It appears as if they abandoned the house in a hurry, no one would leave their tools behind. Needing answers, he walks back out to the horse and rides full gallop back into town.

He approaches an establishment full of rowdy people, peering in over the doors and seeing a number of men drinking, women hanging off their arms. Not unlike the brothels he saw on his travels in Albuquerque, with the exception of the word ‘saloon’ hanging off a sign on the roof. Figuring it’s as good a place as any to try for information, he ties the horse up on a hitching post before heading inside. Keeping his head low, he takes a seat at the bar.

“What’ll it be?” The barkeep says, approaching him, wiping a whiskey tumbler clean on a blue dish towel before placing it on the bar.

“Not interested in a drink,” Gabe says, still keeping his head low. “I’m after information. William McCree. Where is he?”

“If you’re after Willy, you’re too late. He’s gone.”

He allowed himself to glance up, enough to see the barkeep without drawing unnecessary attention to his eyes. “Gone where?”

“Cemetery,” the barkeep sighs. “He died about eight years ago.”

“Mary McCree?”

“Gone too. Five years ago.”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t have the balls to kill her after all,” he mutters to himself. “What happened to them?”

“Willy got caught in a fight. Got hit and fell back, cracked his head right there,” he points to the post in the middle of the saloon. “Mary got sick during the great frost of 1857. Died in her sleep.”

Gabe closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly; a silent reflection. After a moment he opens his eyes and looks at the barkeep. “Jesse McCree?”

The barkeep narrows his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Just a family friend trying to get back in touch,” Gabe answers, rubbing his chin, feeling the hairs of his beard underneath his fingertips. He has a random thought; will it continue to grow?

“Well, you must’ve been living in a cave—”

Gabe chuckles. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, Jesse McCree is the name on everyone’s lips at the moment. The kid who got famous for his almost lifelike prosthetics,” the barkeep says with admiration in his voice.

“Where is he?”

“Not here. Hasn’t been here in over a year. He’s been travelling the world, getting rich and famous. He didn’t say where he was going, nor when he’d be back.”

Gabe chuckles and stands up. “Thanks, friend,” he says, keeping his head low before he nods and walks out the bar.

Mounting his horse once more, he begins the slow trot up to the cemetery, plucking a single red flower from the bush just outside the gates. He dismounts the horse, tying it to a hitching post before weaving past the tombstones, shaking his head at the names he recognises, one after the other until finally, finding the two tombstones, side by side.

Glancing at them before crouching down at Mary’s, he dusts it with his sleeve and places the flower top. He closes his eyes and reflects for a moment, wondering what her life was like after the confrontation, how he wishes he could have protected her from William. How, if he was just that bit stronger, he could have overpowered William and left him in the cave. He imagines a life with Mary, with Jesse, watching him grow up as they grew old together. With a sigh, he kisses his hand and brushes his fingertips on her name carved into the tombstone.

With a final nod and glance at William’s tombstone, he walks away, back to his horse and back to Mary’s abandoned house. He stays there purely for sentimentality. Days drag on; he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat. He finds a bottle of whiskey hidden behind the bed in Jesse’s room, but can’t tell if it is good as he can’t taste it.

At his wits’ end, he decided to spend his time controlling his new ability. He starts by willingly turning into smoke and back into solid form again, controlling the pain until it is nothing more than a dull ache. He reaches a point where he can feel every molecule which make him up being separated and pulled apart before being put back together again. He spends longer and longer in smoke form, snaking around the house. Eventually, he learns to really focus his abilities, dissipating into smoke one room of the house and instantly appearing in another.

Then one night it all changes.

Feeling like he is being stabbed in the gut with a hot poker, he doubles over in pain. He feels weak, disappearing into smoke before reappearing again, unable to control it like that first day in the cave. Realisation dawns on him: he needs to feed. He needs to kill.

In the dead of night, he stalks the town, looking for someone passing through, a traveller; someone who wouldn’t be missed. He finds a young couple, Elizabeth and John who are travelling the Southwest on horseback, leaving their shitty lives behind.

Befriending them, buying them drinks and laughing at their stories, Gabe offers them a place to stay; shelter from the elements and an actual bed to sleep on. They agree without a second thought, and Gabe leads them back to his house.

He waits until they’re asleep before doing anything. Starting with John, Gabe cuts his throat from ear to ear. Gabe listens to his choked gasps, watches as he grabs his throat in vain until his hands fall limp and eyes glass over. The red-brown orb leaves John and enters his chest; grinning as he feels his strength return.

He then turns his attention to Elizabeth. A beautiful thing, he brushes a blonde ringlet aside before tracing a finger down her jawline. Without hesitation or remorse, he raises the knife up and plunges it into her chest, watching the life drain from her eyes as she tries to push him away.

When she finally stops struggling, the orb leaves her. He waits for it to enter him, but it doesn’t—it remains in suspension in the air. He analyses the orb, watching as it shimmers, the red and brown life force swirling around within the orb. Reluctantly, he reaches out and tries to hold it in his hands, but his hand just passes through it.

Suddenly, It re-enters Elizabeth, and she takes in a gulping breath. She looks down at the knife sticking out of her chest and screams, clawing at it before pulling it out and holding it in her hands. Breathing now steady, she looks at Gabe, and then he sees her eyes. Her eyes that look like his; as black as the night.

She sits up and looks at the man beside her; throat wide open and blood all over the sheets. Gabe, ready to dissipate into smoke if she turns on him, looks at the knife and silently asks her to give it to him. She looks at Gabe and nods her head, handing him the knife, like she heard his thoughts.

“Clean that up,” Gabe orders. With a nod, she gets up, walks around the bed and grabs the man by the arms, dragging him out of the bed and out of the room. When Gabe closes his eyes, he can see her actions.

He can see _through_ her eyes.

He spends the next few weeks in the house with Elizabeth, perfecting his abilities, killing and collecting souls when he feels weak, discovering a predictable five-week pattern and killing before he loses control of his abilities.

In that time, they learn that Elizabeth doesn’t have the same abilities as him and that she doesn’t need to kill like him. They stay hidden from the town most of the time, no need to go out for food or alcohol, no need to draw attention to themselves. The only thing he does to stave off boredom is read the newspaper. There, he learns what he can about Jesse McCree.

He learns about the aether, how it’s not only in locomotives across America and now Europe, but in Jesse’s prosthetics. _His_ aether.

He learns that Jesse is coming back to America; back home to Santa Fe.

Wanting to give a good homecoming to his son, Gabe ventures into town. His destination is the saloon, the same saloon he entered when he first walked back into town all those months ago. Arm linked with Elizabeth, his partner in crime, he approaches the bar and takes a seat, in the same seat as previous.

The barkeep approaches and smiles. “Back again, I see?”

Gabe taps his hands on the bar and smiles, this time looking at the barkeep. “Certainly am. You know what? I like you, friend.” He points at him with a finger. “I might just keep you alive. The rest of them though...” He gestures behind him with his thumb.

The barkeep stammers backwards, hitting the shelves behind him, the bottles of alcohol clanking together. “Wh-What are you?”

With a grin, Gabe leans against the bar on his forearms.

“I am the Reaper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN MEMORIAM: REAPER'S ORBS 2016 - 2017  
> Given the standalone nature of this chapter, this was one of the first ones I wrote, way back when Reaper's orbs were still in the game. It was a shock reading through this again before sending it to Magisey a couple of weeks ago as I had forgotten that I had written them in. It seems so out of place now, but I didn't have the heart to edit them out. So they stayed!!


	9. The Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the one after are shorter than the rest, purely based on how I’ve decided to write them - think of them as two parts of the same story.
> 
> Warning for blood, gore and body horror in this chapter. Also minor NSFW warning, though that's contained to like the fourth paragraph.

“Hanzo, run!”

In one swift move, Hanzo slips the quiver over his shoulder, reserving one arrow before grabbing his bow and running for the stairs. He does not look at Jesse; he has but one thought on his mind right now: Find Genji.

Arrow nocked and loosely drawn, Hanzo glances at both sides of the secondary level, taking the right side of the staircase first with fewer doors to check.

Approaching the first door, he presses an ear to it, listening for movement. He can hear the sound of a man grunting; he sounds like he is in pain. His mind supplies that Genji is in there, being tortured.

He bursts through the door, arrow drawn and arms shaking under the tension. Rolling his eyes and lessening the tension, the source of the noise is a man, trousers around his ankles having sex with a woman on the windowsill, her legs wrapped around his waist. She leans over to see who has disturbed them, offering a playful wink and gesture of her finger to join them. The man looks over his shoulder, groans obscenely before he stops thrusting.

Hanzo shakes his head and closes the door, moving onto the next room. Pressing his ear to this door, he hears nothing. He opens the door and after quickly scanning the room, moving from the bed to the two chairs and a table opposite it, he confirms that the room is empty. He approaches the third door, checking it and it too is empty and devoid of any furniture.

Frustration thick in the huff that escapes his lips, he doubles back, glancing down at the lower level of the saloon. The Reaper is holding Jesse by his clothing, suspending him above the ground. Jesse grabs the Reapers wrist with both of his hands as his legs kick the air helplessly before he is pulled in close, face to face with the Reaper. He worries, swallowing the lump in his throat; he hopes this is not the last time he sees Jesse. He should have told Jesse how he felt. Told him that he values the friendship they have developed. Told him that he did not regret the kiss and that he would do it again without hesitation.

He should have kissed him in his chambers before they disembarked.

A rush of intense heat coursing through his veins pulls Hanzo back to reality. The dragons are restless and hungry. Hanzo takes a steady breath as he presses his ear to the next door. He needs to focus. To find Genji and take him home. He opens the door and is stunned for a moment, as are the occupants of the room: showgirls in various states of undress who scream and try to cover themselves up.

Hanzo hurriedly closes the door; he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks and the dragons stir under his skin listlessly. Between thoughts of wanting to kiss Jesse, the image that invades his mind of him fucking Jesse against a window sill like that couple, and the dragons writhing, Hanzo realises the need to consume is not the only thing they are after. He takes a moment to calm his mind and clear his thoughts. He is here to find Genji and take him home. He will get Genji, rescue Jesse from the Reaper and they will all make it out alive.

Then he will kiss Jesse and tell him how he feels.

He looks at the remainder of the doors, six in all. Six rooms all of which will either be empty, full of people having sex, or women preparing for the show. Doubts are starting to cloud Hanzo’s mind as he checks the rooms; the first, second and third all empty. _Genji is not here,_ his mind offers unhelpfully.

Approaching the fourth door, the dragons still and much to Hanzo’s surprise, a sense of calm washes over him. This has to be the room Genji is in. Holding his breath, Hanzo presses his ear to the door. Hearing nothing, he tries to open the door but it is locked. This _has_ to be the room Genji is in.

Taking a step back, Hanzo kicks the door with all his force. The wood cracks and splinters at the handle and the door bounces off the wall with another loud thud. Bow drawn once again, he enters the dimly lit room; only a sliver of sun is streaming through the mostly drawn curtains. With a huff, he quickly scans from right to left, his eyes first settling on the bed. Sitting in a messy pile are Genji’s black and green clothes and armour, a bag not unlike Jesse’s, along with his katana and wakizashi.

Anger into overdrive, the dragon projects off his skin and splits into two, snaking around his arm. They glow, casting the room in a brilliant blue light. Stepping inside the room, Hanzo continues his scan of the room; seeing a wooden dresser is opposite the bed before checking the final corner of the room, the corner hidden by the door, and his stomach drops.

“Genji,” he breathes, running over to the naked, crumpled form of his brother. His arms are tied at the wrists in front of him, his legs are bound at the ankles. His long hair covering his face, he is lying on his side and is not responding to his name.

Placing his bow on the ground, Hanzo gently sweeps Genji’s hair aside and shakes his shoulder. “Genji, are you okay?”

Moments pass and time feels like it has unmeasurably slowed as Genji does not move. Hanzo sits down, gives his shoulder a firm squeeze and breathes a massive sigh of relief when Genji groans, frowning before opening one eye reluctantly.

“Hanzo…”

“Hush,” Hanzo whispers, using the arrowhead to cut through the bindings around his wrists before cutting the bindings around his ankles. “Can you sit up?”

Placing both hands on the ground, he tries to put his weight on his hands but his arms shake and he falls down on his forearms. Hanzo grabs him by the shoulders and eases him up, resting him on the wall, but he winces in pain. “Hanzo, my back…”

Hanzo pulls him forward to look at his back and anger rises through him once more. “They have maimed you,” he seethes, looking at the knife wounds along the image of the dragon on his back, the dried blood covering most of the design. It appears as if they were trying to remove the tattoo.

“It is nothing,” Genji says, voice croaky and offering a smile.

Hanzo shakes his head, looking at his brother’s beaten face. One black eye, unable to be opened, bruised and swollen lip. He places a hand under his chin and tilts his head to the side, noting the dried blood on his temple. “He will pay for what he has done,” Hanzo growls.

“Not he… they,” Genji says, coughing.

“They?” Hanzo asks, grabbing Genji’s hakama from the bed. He looks at the armour, deciding against it because of its weight. He would give Genji Jesse’s shirt that he is wearing.

“Hanzo, it is an elder.”

Helping Genji stand up by placing his arm around his shoulder, Hanzo assists to get Genji into the hakama. “What is an elder?” Hanzo asks, frustration and anger carrying in his tone. He sits Genji on the bed before drawing the curtains open completely to allow more light into the room.

“Who helped him.”

Slipping the quiver off his back, he closes his eyes as he unbuttons and shrugs off his shirt. An elder was whom he did not want to face.

Placing a hand on Genji’s shoulder, Hanzo takes another look at his back. The wounds are open and have not been dressed; the skin around them is red and inflamed. Hanzo presses a gentle finger to the reddened skin and Genji yelps in pain.

“They poured alcohol on the wounds,” he mumbles. “The only treatment given.”

“Your wounds are infected,” Hanzo mutters, looking at the multitude of cuts marring Genji’s back.  “You will need immediate treatment. Hopefully Jesse knows someone.”

“You are here with Jesse?”

Hanzo hums, his thoughts drawn to the image of the man smiling, then to the moment they shared the kiss. Heat pools in his core and the dragons tumble playfully around his arm, responding to his arousal. He scolds himself; this is no time to have these thoughts and feelings.

“And that explains your clothes,” Genji says, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.

Hanzo smiles; at least Genji is in good spirits. Turning his attention to the parts of Genji’s tattoo that he can see, Hanzo notices the usual dark, crisp lines no longer defined, but appear as if ink dissipating in water. Hanzo closes his eyes, encountering the second thing he did not want to face. “You have been muzzled.”

“She will be back soon.”

Hanzo helps Genji into one sleeve of the shirt, then the other, making sure not to put too much pressure on the wounds. He walks around to the front of the bed, picking up his bow and offering a hand to Genji. “Then we should make an effort to get out of here before _she_ —”

Hanzo flinches upon feeling a hand on his shoulder. He has only a moment to respond, swinging his bow as if it were a katana. He makes contact, sending the person crashing into the wall with a wail.

While the person is winded and gasping for breath, Hanzo uses the opportunity to pluck an arrow from his quiver and draw, aiming at the person’s head. He kicks the door closed to stop anyone else intruding unannounced and it closes with a long, drawn-out creak; a good warning if anyone else were to ambush them. He studies the woman on the floor, wearing a red dress and long, black hair obscuring her face. 

Narrowing his eyes, he states, “You will speak or you will die.”

“Death is not always a certainty,” the woman responds, taking a deep breath. “You know that better than most, Hanzo.”

Hanzo draws the arrow further, causing the bow to creak under the tension. “Who are you?”

She looks up, brushing her hair aside with a finger. “I was there the day you were born. I helped you with your tuition, with your training.”

It takes Hanzo a moment to realise that this young woman before him must be the elder Genji was referring to. “You… but why would you betray us?”

She sits up, resting her head against the wall. “Do you know how old I am?” Hanzo shakes his head, annoyed. His arms start to shake under the tension but he does not lessen it. “Four hundred and fifty-nine,” she answers.

“And she does not look a day over thirty,” Genji says jokingly. Even in pain, his sense of humour does not escape him.

“I was twenty-eight when I joined the priesthood. I was thirty-two when the great Shimada Hiromitsu approached us. I was thirty-five when he granted us eternal life. What we did not know at the time was that _did not_ mean eternal youth.”

Hanzo frowns, shaking his head. “So to get back at the clan for your lost looks you join the fanatic downstairs?”

“He gave me my youth back,” she says smiling.

“Your looks for the betrayal of the clan?” Hanzo seethes. “Are you that vain?!”

“For a life I could not have!” she replies, exasperated. “Gabe has given me my life back. I can leave the confines of the castle. I can explore the world. I can do it all without people running away scared at the sight of me.”

A part of Hanzo falters, knowing full well the reason why the elders rarely leave the castle walls is due to their appearance, the looks people give them. They are so frail in appearance, so ambiguous, that Hanzo had not even considered what gender they were. He had forgotten that deep down, they are people too.

He takes a breath and lessens the tension on the bow slightly, enough that the muscles in his arms and chest are no longer burning. “And what did he want in return? Surely he did not do this out of the goodness of his heart.”

She chuckles. “We are in love. He found me in the markets one day, recognised that I was not like everyone else. He told me that he would give me my youth if I gave him a dragon.”

“You alone do not have the power to extract them. Your motives are pointless!” Hanzo yells.

“You assume I work alone?” She rests her head against the wall once again, cradling her abdomen where Hanzo hit her. Placing her other arm on the floor, she curls her legs underneath her, sitting up on her knees.

Hanzo draws the bow tight once again, aiming for her shoulder. “Make another movement and I will release this arrow into your shoulder.”

Chuckling and bringing both hands up in front of her, she licks her lips. “You were never supposed to get caught up in this, Hanzo.” She shakes her head and rests back down on the floor.

Arms shaking under the tension and about to give out, he allows himself to relax. If she attempts to move, Hanzo is confident he can take her out before she could do any damage. Still, he takes a good few steps back so she cannot get her hands on him.

“Even when his youngest son is captured,” she gestures at Genji with the tilt of her head, looks at him as she says, “he still does not have the spine to come for him himself.” She looks at Hanzo. “He sends you.”

“Because I was specified in the letter Genji sent.”

“We did not think he would put the heir to the throne in unnecessary danger. He would rather see both of his sons _dead_ than face death himself.” She pauses, shaking her head. “He is a coward, Hanzo. Surely you see this.”

Realisation starts to dawn on Hanzo. “This was part of your plan to dethrone him.”

“He was supposed to come for Genji. You were supposed to stay in Hanamura, assume leader in his stead.”

“And you would kill him? Does that not go against the Reaper’s desire for the dragons?”

“There are enough of us here. We have left the confines of that prison and we would extract the dragons. Your father’s, Genji’s.” She looks at Genji, and Hanzo followed her gaze. “Genji put on quite the demonstration, and well, he wants them all, now.”

Enough of her words, Hanzo draws the arrow once more, and she holds up her hands, eyes wide.

“That was until you arrived. We have groomed you to take over, Hanzo. We are not about to throw thirty-two years of training away because you are here and he is not.” She takes a breath, kneeling once more, slowly. “You are the leader the clan needs. You have the determination, the will to see things done to completion. You are able to perform the hardest of tasks without thought, without hesitation and without remorse. You are safe, you will not be harmed.”

“And what of Genji?”

“Genji is a burden to the clan,” she purrs. “Let us take care of him and you can rule without having to keep an eye on him and his reckless antics.” She stands slowly, back pressing to the wall and keeping her hands up in front of her. “You can carry on the great Shimada name without _him_ sullying it more than he already has.”

Hanzo glances at Genji beside him, who widens his eye and brings his hands up in front of him. “Hanzo…” he pleads, eye welling with tears.

A part of Hanzo is shocked that Genji would think he would turn on him so easily. He then realises that there was a time not so long ago when he would hang off each of those words from the elders; praising him, telling him how good a leader he would be. Believing them when they would say Genji is a liability. Not now, though. He has seen through their lies, their wishes. He is done with their manipulation.

Hanzo winks at Genji and looks back at the elder. “You will unmuzzle him, and I will spare you your pitiful life.”  

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “What guarantee do I have that you will keep me alive? The way I see it, I am dead either way. Better to keep _him_ muzzled,” she spits, glancing at Genji. “He is not worthy of the power he carries.”

Lightning sparks from Hanzo’s arm, connecting to the bow as the dragon on his arm lifts off and splits, revealing the second dragon. Both hiss at the elder. “If you do not unmuzzle him, I will take you back to Hanamura and you will face my father’s wrath when I tell him you alone devised the plot to have him and Genji murdered. I do not believe for a second that the other elders are here.”

Shrinking back down, she nods in response. Hanzo takes a moment to calm the dragons, which is taking more effort than normal given their desire to feed. After reassuring them that they _will_ feed, the lightning ceases as they settle back down into the tattoo.  

With a gesture of his head to Genji, she approaches him and Hanzo follows her, bow still aimed squarely on her chest. She rolls up the shirt on Genji’s back to his shoulders. Closing her eyes, she recites the prayer, voice barely a whisper. Genji shut his eye tight, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he falls forward, bracing himself on his forearms on his knees. He cries in pain and Hanzo draws the bow further, she stands up, holding her hands up in front of her.

“It is done,” she says, taking a step to the side.

Walking towards Genji while still aiming at her, Genji sits back up. Hanzo looks at the tattoo on his back, and it appears as it normally does, black ink with defined lines, the dragon clearly visible.  

With a nod to the elder, Hanzo lowers the bow. Without breaking eye contact with her, he stuffs the rest of Genji’s armour into the bag, overflowing with the sheer amount but there is nothing that can be done about that. He slings the quiver over one shoulder and the bag over the other, picking up his bow, nocking the arrow.

Offering assistance to Genji who turns it down, he watches as Genji slips on his boots and ties the obi loosely around his waist, tucking his wakizashi into it. Genji then grabs the katana off the bed, holding it in his hands before standing up, testing his weight as he bounces on the spot and after a moment flashes his mischievous grin and nods to Hanzo.

Smiling back, Hanzo turns his attention to the elder, scowling as he gestures with his head to the door. The elder takes the lead, followed by Genji, with Hanzo behind. He would not take his eyes off her, not even for a second.

She opens the door and walks into the corridor, followed closely behind by Genji. Just as Hanzo is about to leave the room, the sound of gunshots ring out. Six, in very quick succession, followed by six loud thuds.

Then, Jesse’s voice rings out.

“Someone call the undertaker!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proper nouns can suck it.


	10. Wild Wild West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Blood, gore and body horror in this chapter too. Don’t worry, this is the worst of it for the rest of the story.

“Hanzo, run!”

Gabriel laughs, a deep maniacal laugh, watching as Hanzo runs for the staircase before he turns his full attention back to Jesse. “It’s of no matter. He won’t get very far.”

Jesse watches as Hanzo disappears from view, quiver strapped to his back and bow drawn. He looks at Gabriel.  _ Confidence _ , he tells himself. “You jus’ keep tellin’ yourself that,” he drawls, smirking.

Gabriel growls, shaking his head. “You may have my looks but those are William’s words.” He picks Jesse up with a tight grip around his shirt, suspending him above the ground. Jesse grabs his wrists and kicks at the air helplessly. “Tell me, what happened to him.”

Jesse has it in his right mind to spit in his face, tell him nothing like the first time their paths crossed. He knows, though, that in this little scenario he is the distraction. He needs to string Gabriel along while Hanzo searches for Genji. Hopefully, he finds Genji quick smart. “Y’know, you asked that last time. What makes you think I’m going to tell you this time?”

Gabriel stares at Jesse with his dead eyes before chuckling and pulling Jesse in close. “You are lucky you are my own flesh and blood.” 

Kicking his legs as he is lowered until his boots are firmly planted on the ground, Jesse takes a quick breath. Gabriel lets go of his shirt and gestures to the table he and Hanzo were sitting at. Tugging his shirt down and readjusting his hat on his head, Jesse approaches the table. He decides to sit in Hanzo’s seat; it has the view of the staircase. That way, he can keep an eye on Hanzo if he needs assistance there.

His attention is drawn to the stairwell when he hears women screaming followed by a door slamming shut. He smirks, knowing full well that would be Hanzo. He wishes he could see Hanzo’s face. He imagines the redness in his cheeks, the surprised look on his face. He’ll have to remember to ask Hanzo about that later.

The reality of the situation comes crashing back when Gabriel approaches the table, flicking his coat wildly behind him as he sits opposite Jesse. Taking a breath, Jesse glances to the stairwell and prays to anyone that’ll listen that Genji is upstairs. He looks back at Gabriel when he holds up two fingers to the barkeep, winking as the barkeep nods and hurriedly fusses behind the bar. 

Gabriel plucks his hat off his head and places it on the table before grabbing out two cigars from inside his jacket pocket. He offers one to Jesse, he takes it and gives it a good smell. Keeping a neutral face and refusing to look away from Gabriel, he internally savours the earthy scent of the cigar. 

“Cubans,” Gabriel says, placing it between his teeth as he pulls out his tin of matches, plucking one and striking the match on the table. “I’m going to assume you’ve had them before.” He puffs on the end to ignite the cigar.

Jesse looks at the cigar, placing it on the table. “I have. Not really in the mood for one now, though.”

“Oh, for…” Gabriel picks up the cigar and clicks his fingers, the barkeep hastily approaches like a dog on command and places two whiskey tasters and a bottle down on the table. Jesse immediately notices the barkeep doesn’t have black eyes like the rest of the people surrounding him, though he is sweating, his breathing is rapid and his eyes remain straight ahead, looking at the wall of the saloon.

Gabriel waves the cigar in front of the barkeep and he takes it, holding it in his hands as Gabriel lights a match. He places it between his teeth and puffs to ignite it, exhaling the smoke as Gabriel extinguishes the match with the flick of his wrist before pouring the whiskey. He takes back the cigar; snatching it from the man’s mouth, saying, “See, it isn’t going to kill you.” He shoos the barkeep away with the wave of his hand and he nods and hurriedly walks behind the bar. Looking at the glowing end of the cigar, Gabriel extends his hand, offering it to Jesse. “I’m not in the business of ruining a good thing.”

Looking at the cigar, Jesse takes it and holds it between his fingers. A part of him is sad to let a beautiful cigar go unsmoked, but he needs to be ready if anything goes— 

Everyone’s attention is drawn to the stairwell as a loud thud is heard, followed quickly by a quieter thud.

“Seems he’s found his brother,” Gabe says, chuckling. He clicks his fingers again and a woman approaches from the door behind the bar. She is dressed in a red dress, long black hair worn down, and has normal eyes too. Jesse looks at her, and wonders just how an East Asian woman made it here. She stands by Gabriel’s side and he takes her hand. “Make your presence known, my dear.” He kisses her knuckles before letting go of her hand.

Tracing a finger along Gabriel’s shoulders, she only breaks eye contact with Jesse when she turns to approach the stairs. Jesse wonders if she is a relation to Hanzo, if she is in control of dragons, too.

“Has the eldest Shimada told you about his family’s secret?” Gabriel asks, puffing on his cigar.

“He might have mentioned it,” Jesse says nonchalantly. “It’s a neat trick.”

“Oh, so you’ve seen it in action, then?”

Looking at the whiskey taster, he picks up the glass and looks at Gabe before taking a sip. “Have you?”

“I certainly have. The green one is spectacular,” he says, excited. He leans forward on the table, resting his weight on his elbow as he takes the cigar from his mouth and holds it between his knuckles. With his other hand, he presses his thumb to his cheek, bringing it down to his jawline. “Melts the flesh clean off bones.”

Jesse only nods, leaning back in his seat, giving an air of disinterest. Given Genji’s affinity for the colour green, he can only assume Gabriel is talking about him. And honestly, that piece of information is  _ very  _ useful to know. 

Hearing the sound of a creak from a door carry down the stairs faintly, Jesse allows himself a small glance to the stairwell. Gabriel doesn’t react to it, so either it is expected or he didn’t hear it. It’s not unlike the creak in his workshop door, and he makes an assumption that is from the room Hanzo is in. In any case, he keeps an ear out for it, it might be his only warning that Hanzo is about to head downstairs.

Jesse watches as Gabriel takes a long puff from his cigar,  holding it for a moment before blowing out the smoke in rings. He follows them as each ring lazily dissipates to join the smoke cloud above them. “So tell me, what does the blue one do?”

Jesse looks at Gabe, then at the glass in his hand, taking another sip. He has no intention of telling him anything, only keeping him strung along enough for Hanzo to come down those stairs with Genji so they can get the fuck out of here.

“I imagine he calls forth a torrent of water. Drowns people where they stand,” Gabe wonders, tapping the table with a finger. “Or,” he raises his eyebrows, “he channels a storm. Kills with the power of lightning.”

Jesse looks at him, then at the cigar between his fingers, transferring it from his flesh hand to his prosthetic. Smoke faintly rises from the end; it is almost extinguished.

“Well in any case, I was promised a fire breathing dragon. And the summoner of  _ that  _ is not here.” Gabe looks at the glass on the table, spinning it in his hands before picking it up. “That pisses me off, Jesse.” He takes a sip.

Shrugging, Jesse asks, “So what are you goin’ to do about it, Gabriel?”

“My dear Ikuko tells me I’m not to harm a single hair on that pretty eldest Shimada’s head.” Gabriel takes a puff of his cigar, shrugging as he leans back in his chair, exhaling the smoke. “I was told I would leave here with two dragons, and that is what I intend on doing.”

Jesse balls his hands into fists, the cigar between his fingers cuts in two under the stress and the end in his palm is crushed.

“Oh, son,” Gabriel says, smile on his face. “Don’t tell me… you and the eldest?” When Jesse only bares his teeth, Gabriel continues, “A Shimada. Fuck, son. You certainly do pick them!” He laughs, and that’s about when Jesse has had enough of this conversation.

Reaching into his jacket, his fingers brush against Peacekeeper’s hilt. He could do it now, take out six of them and then get a head start on making it to the stairwell. Though if Hanzo has found Genji, then they should be down here by now.  _ Something is wrong,  _ he thinks.

He should do it now, as Gabe laughs like a mad man, slapping his hand on his knee and sending ash from the cigar flying into the air. All of a sudden, he devolves into a series of coughs, slamming his chest with his fist.

Realising he needs to give Hanzo more time, Jesse pulls his hand from his jacket and grabs the whiskey taster from the table, downing the rest while Gabriel recovers from the fit. He savours the burn, slamming the glass on the table as Gabriel  _ finally _ quietens to wheezing. “You really should take more care of yourself, Gabriel.” 

Voice croaky, making his already guttural voice more so, Gabriel answers, “It is only a sign that I need replenishment.” Clearing his throat and losing some of the gruffness, he continues, “Help your  _ papi _ out, won’t you. Join me.”

“And turn into these mindless things, these boot-lickers?” Jesse looks from the barkeep who hasn’t moved an inch and then gestures to Elizabeth with the wave of his hand, sitting at the bar with one leg crossed over the other. She smiles, waves then blows him a kiss, which does nothing but infuriate Jesse.

“Well as you can see they’re not mindless.” Gabriel looks from Elizabeth to Jesse. “So what do you say, son? Join me, and together we can rule the world. I’ll even spare the eldest Shimada. He can be your plaything for as long as you want him. I’ll turn him too, if that’s what you want. He won’t age, he’ll stay pretty forever.”

Jesse narrows his eyes and snickers. He’s thoroughly convinced the man in front of him is a deranged egomaniac, and is about to rightly tell him so, but stops when he hears the cue he’s been waiting for: the creak in that door Hanzo burst through. In one swift movement, he stands and launches off the ground, rolling to the corner of the room in front of the bar and beside the stairwell where no one is standing. He unholsters Peacekeeper and aims, closing his left eye and focussing with his right.

The room loses its colour and details fade to black in the background. Around him, six people illuminate red; their heads glow with the colour. With a smirk, he takes his shots, six rapid shots as six bodies fall to the ground. 

He notes the black smoke pouring from the headshot between Elizabeth’s normal, lifeless eyes. Pulling a nearby table down for cover and giving into the urge to be smug, he calls out, “Someone call the undertaker!” 

Bracing himself for the aftershock and already feeling the pinprick sensation in his right eye, he uses the moment to take deep, controlled breaths as he quickly reloads Peacekeeper. He stays hidden as the wave of nausea hits him at full force, then presses his palm to his eye, the pain searing.

When he hears a set of heavy footsteps approach, he swallows down the bile threatening to push forward. He doesn’t have the time to recover fully, he’s literally caught in a life or death situation. Listening to Gabriel’s heavy footsteps on the wooden floors, he takes a deep breath and with shaky hands, gets Peacekeeper ready. A part of him knows, though, that this is likely the end as there’s no chance he could use his deadeye so soon, and his standard bullets have no effect on Gabriel. Son or not, Gabriel won’t hold back this time; Jesse knows Elizabeth has been by his side since his ‘resurrection’.

Ignoring the throbbing in his head, Jesse crouches, ready roll away and escape Gabriel’s grasp. He takes a slow breath in, but as he breathes out just as slowly, he hears three sets of distinct footsteps above him at the same time the heavy footsteps stop their approach. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looks up and in an instant, his breath is taken away. His eyes are drawn to Hanzo, slowly descending the staircase, bow drawn and shirtless.

Suddenly, the danger of the situation disappears. The world could be ending right now, and Jesse couldn't care less. All he cares about, all he is interested in, is a very attractive Hanzo; muscles tight under the tension of the bow, his tattoo shimmering bright blue, his body glistening in sweat. Whatever reason he decided to take the shirt off, which is peculiar considering he said he would be fine with it on, Jesse decides he doesn’t really care. 

Gaping at Hanzo as he slowly descends the stairs, Hanzo glances down and winks.  _ Winks!  _ That just about sends Jesse’s arousal into overdrive. He will need to definitely have that chat with Genji…

That’s when he snaps out of his stupor, realising Genji is also descending the stairs and is wearing his shirt. Why  _ Genji _ is wearing his shirt only raises more questions, and then Jesse notices he is holding on to the hand rail with a white knuckle grip, and every step he takes is unnecessarily loud. Even though his face is showing confidence, the look in his eyes tells Jesse that he is in pain.

He then directs his attention to the woman standing in front of Genji, the same woman who went upstairs earlier. Given her rigid posture, her lips pressed into a thin line and the fact she doesn’t break eye contact with Gabriel, she is concerned. So she is not with Hanzo and Genji, then.

Gabriel chuckles, and that’s the cue Jesse uses to stand up, pressing the muzzle of the gun to the brim of his hat, pushing it upwards. He rests an elbow on the bannister just as Genji passes, and he feels Hanzo’s hip brush against it; the brief contact causes Jesse’s mouth to go dry.

“Well, well…” Gabriel starts, slowly clapping his hands together, looking from Hanzo to Jesse. “It seems our Japanese friends aren’t the only ones with hidden talents. Tell me, son. How did you do that?”

Jesse shrugs and smirks. “That is my own little secret, Gabriel.”

Folding his arms across his chest and tapping a finger on his bicep, he looks to the ceiling in contemplation. “The way I see it, you can do something no one else can. There’s only one other thing I know that we have in common, aside from me bein’ your  _ papi _ .” He looks at Jesse. “If I had to bet on it, I would say it’s the aether.”

The aether is Jesse’s guess, too. He always had a good eye, able to aim with deadly precision. But since losing his arm, he has found that his aim has improved unimaginably, and it earned him the nickname Deadeye McCree at the practice rangs.

With a smirk, Jesse only says, “You just keep on guessin’.”

“It is of no matter. Much as I would prefer to have you join me willingly, I don’t need you to.” Gabe reaches into his trench coat, pulling out two large guns. Given the sheer size of them, there was no way he could have been hiding them without Jesse knowing; they must have formed from the smoke. They are also unlike anything Jesse has seen, thick black barrels and wooden handles. Much bigger than a handgun, even though they are wielded like one.

And that is all it takes for Hanzo to loose an arrow into Gabriel’s chest. To his credit, Hanzo did make contact, but that is all it does as Gabriel looks at the arrow protruding from his chest where his heart should be and dissipates into smoke, guns and all. The arrow clatters on the floor as Gabriel reappears at the top of the staircase. 

“Hanzo!” Jesse calls, aiming Peacekeeper at Gabriel and firing, directing his attention to him. The bullet makes contact, causing smoke to pour out of his shoulder. 

Hanzo plucks an arrow, nocks and draws in lightning speed, loosing it. This time, Gabriel disperses before it makes contact, the arrow embeds in the wall before he reappears again.

The woman with Hanzo and Genji runs to the other end of the saloon as Gabriel aims both barrels at Hanzo once more. 

Genji unsheathes his katana, his dark eyes glow green before the shirt on his back melts away, dripping a black sludge onto the floor and sizzling on the wood on contact. The dragon lifts off his back and snakes down his arm, imbuing the katana as he yells, “ _ Ryūjin no ken wo kurae! _ ” Placing a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, Genji climbs up the wall and around him, launching himself upwards to Gabriel. 

“Nice try,” the Reaper says as he dissipates again, reappearing on the lower level of the saloon. Genji follows, leaping down from the top level and landing on his feet. With a snap of his fingers, the people by the faro table stand up, five men in all, and all approach Genji. Running forward, Genji makes contact with the first, then the second, slashing the blade across their chests and melting their clothing and flesh. They writhe in pain as they fall to the floor, skin and flesh dissolves down to the bone. He makes quick work of the remaining three, slashing their torsos and slicing off limbs; they follow suit and crumple to the floor, using their last shred of life to cradle fatal wounds which melt away. 

Arrow drawn, Hanzo joins Jesse at the bottom of the stairs, launching it at the closest person who advances, embedding it in their chest. They stop their approach, pull the arrow out and toss it to the floor.

Jesse grabs Hanzo by the arm, it seems only headshots take these turned folks out. “Headshots only,” he yells over the commotion. “And we have to go.” Nodding, Hanzo races for the bow case, tossing it to Jesse who barely registers the catch. “I could have made you another one,” Jesse complains, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Nonsense. I would not leave something so lovingly crafted behind in this place.”

“Hanzo—” Jesse stops dead in his tracks, the person who Hanzo shot stands behind him, knife raised above his head. Jesse pulls the card from his prosthetic, yells, “Duck!” and flings it at the man the second Hanzo is out of the way, lodging in his neck. The man takes a back step, and that’s all the time he needs to pull his gun and fire the fatal headshot. Smoke rises from the wound as his black eyes turn normal, and with a smirk, Jesse pulls the card from the man’s neck, tucks it in his prosthetic, twirls his gun and turns around. 

He looks at Hanzo as he bows his head, and Jesse bows his in response. All of a sudden, Hanzo has an arrow nocked, drawn and aimed right at him and before he can react, it’s loosed. Jesse instinctively closes his eyes, and opens them when he hears a loud thud behind him. He turns around, seeing an arrow protruding from the man’s right eye socket. Jesse takes a breath and turns around, and can’t help but wink and tip his hat. Hanzo winks back, and then instantly has another arrow drawn, ready to take out another target.

The smile falls from Jesse’s face when he sees Genji collapse by the door. The dragon settles back into the tattoo, and Jesse races over. His eyes are closed, and when Jesse tries to shake him awake, he doesn’t respond. Jesse picks him up, ready to place him over his shoulders when someone helps, grabbing his arm and draping it over their shoulder.

“I couldn’t let you face this alone,” Ana says, smirking.

Jesse nods, carrying Genji outside. They drape Genji on Ana’s horse and she climbs on as Jesse unties the horses from the hitching post.

Hanzo backsteps out of the saloon, two people are advancing on him. Reaching behind him for arrows in his quiver, he is down to two: a standard arrow and the scatter arrow. Hanzo plucks the scatter arrow, nocking it and aiming at the ground before loosing it, where it scatters and bounces, two of the projectiles embed into them, which gives Hanzo enough time to race to his horse.

Jesse smirks at his invention and how well it worked, before hurriedly untying his and Hanzo’s horses and mounting. 

He hears a woman’s scream coming from within the saloon, then she appears in the doorway. It’s the Japanese woman, and she looks at Hanzo as he mounts his horse. She says something in Japanese to him, Jesse can’t understand what as she speaks too fast, but he can hear the anger, the venom in her words. Hanzo looks at her as he mounts his horse, says something back without any emotion before he looks at Jesse. With a nod, Hanzo pulls on his horse’s reigns and the horse rides off in full gallop. Jesse does the same, trailing behind.

Then, without any warning, Hanzo pulls on his horse’s reins, coming to a skidding stop as he turns the horse around. Jesse panics, assumes something is wrong and stops his horse, pulling up next to Hanzo.

Hanzo plucks the final arrow from his quiver, and his arm glows a bright blue. Nocking and drawing the arrow, the dragon lifts off as he yells, “ _ Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau! _ ”

Lightning sparks from the bow as the dragon imbues into the arrow as it is loosed. Exploding forth are two large dragons, travelling in a helix pattern straight for the saloon. The last thing Jesse sees is the Japanese woman in the doorway, a look of complete defeat on her face as she falls to her knees. The dragons enter the saloon, roaring like thunder as they pass through. They leave the structure standing, but from this distance he can’t see the woman who was in the doorway. She is just gone.

Jesse looks at Hanzo. His eyes are closed, mouth open with a look of complete relaxation on his face. He moans softly, which does nothing to Jesse but send a spike of arousal through him. His mind wanders briefly, imagining Hanzo on top of him, face relaxed and moaning. He shakes his head when Hanzo inhales deeply before opening his eyes, blue eyes darkening to the normal dark brown, and his tattoo glows blue as the dragons settle back on his skin.

Jesse’s eyes linger on his shirtless form, his mouth dry. Tearing his eyes away from Hanzo to the saloon, Jesse asks, “Is he dead?”

“The dragons have consumed all within the saloon.”

Jesse nods, looking back at Hanzo. Not thinking, his hand moves closer and closer to Hanzo’s, his fingertips brush against the back of his hand. Hanzo looks down, and grabs his hand. A slow, ragged breath passes Jesse’s lips as he gets lost in Hanzo’s eyes, and right now, there is nothing he wants more than to kiss him, right here, right now; stunned onlookers be damned. 

“If you two are quite done,” Ana calls out, pulling Jesse from his stupor, “we have wounded to tend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of me was concerned that this fic would be published after they removed scatter arrow from the game xD


	11. In Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor warning for referenced drug use.

He could feel a gentle rocking.

The smell of animal dander invades his nostrils.

He cracks open an eye, looking at the moving ground beneath him before looking at the black boot in the stirrup, toes a dusty brown. Following the leg and up the body, he settles on the face of a strange woman looking back at him; elderly and battle-worn, if the eyepatch is any indication.

“Shh,” she comforts, stroking his hair. “Everything is fine.” Her voice is reassuring, soothing. He relaxes into her touch, feeling safe.

“Where is Hanzo?” His voice is croaky and mouth thick with saliva. He swallows, tasting the bitter tinge of blood.

“He’s following behind.”

He tries to look past the woman, but cannot see anything. He looks forward, in the direction they are travelling, noting nothing but desert as far as the eye can see. He looks back at her, asking, “Where are we going?”

“To my house. I am an herbalist, I can tend to your wounds.”

He nods subtly. He feels more exhausted than he has ever felt from expending what little energy he had on releasing the dragon. It had its fill and is sated, happy and finally still after being in a state of agitation for nearly a month. He looks back at the woman, smiling back at him. “What is your name?”

“Ana.”

He smiles. An overwhelming need to sleep washes over him; he gives in and he closes his eye. “Nice to meet you, Ana. I’m Genji…”

* * *

_“When I was… four, maybe? I’d run around, collectin’ old horseshoes. Had over a hundred of them by the time I was seven.”_

A scoff. _“What use would you have for over one hundred horseshoes?”_

_“None. Just braggin’ rights to the kids in school.”_

His brother chuckles. Genji smiles, thinking his brother sounded happy. Then the realisation set in. _Hanzo is happy._

He opens his eyes, and that is when he notices both of his eyes open. He is lying on his side, pillows are tucked underneath him to stop him from rolling onto his back. Sitting in front of him is Hanzo, legs resting on the bed and crossed at the ankles, arms folded across his chest. He is wearing his sky blue kimono and hakama. Curious, that one is his favourite. His hair is also tied in a low ponytail, something he _never_ does unless he is relaxing within the castle’s walls. Very curious, indeed.

Sitting opposite him, leaning back in the seat and legs splayed open almost obscenely is Jesse, dressed in what he was wearing at the saloon, minus the jacket and hat. He is almost unrecognisable with all that hair on his face.

“By the time I was seven, I was able to scale ten-foot walls,” Hanzo says, smirking.

“Jesus, they trained you young, didn’t they?”

“I was six when I could do that,” Genji interjects, voice croaky. He clears his throat as Hanzo looks over and sits up before kneeling in front of the bed.

“Genji.” He smiles, stroking his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I have had the piss beaten out of me,” he chuckles, propping himself up on his elbow. He looks at Jesse. “Cowman.”

“Fish man.” Jesse stands up then kneels down next to Hanzo, placing a hand on Genji’s shoulder. A smirk crosses his lips. “Or should it be dragon man?”

Genji shrugs, offering a small smile. “Sorry about that. I could not tell anyone who I really was.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jesse says, easing into a soft smile. “I’m just glad we found you, bud.”

“Yeah, me too.” Genji holds out his hand, and Hanzo takes it, helping him sit up. Looking down, he realises he is shirtless. He looks over his shoulder, noting a dressing covering most of his back. “How bad is it?”

“It was bad for a while,” Hanzo answers. “You had a severe infection. If we had not found you when we did…” Hanzo trails off, a scowl darkening his features.

“But we did, and that’s all that matters,” Jesse says softly, resting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

Hanzo looks at Jesse and nods. And then he smiles. _Smiles!_ They stare at each other for a moment… and now this is turning into seconds. Genji counts them in his head, starting at two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He stops when Jesse clears his throat and stands up. “I’ll fetch Ana. Be back in a jiffy.”

Genji watches as Jesse leaves the room, turning to the right. He looks at Hanzo, who looks back at him when Jesse is gone from view. “What was that?” Genji asks, smirking.

“What was what?” Hanzo asks, brow furrowed.

“That staring. That good seven to eight seconds of staring.”

Hanzo looks to the empty seat Jesse was sitting in. “It was nothing,” he says quietly.

Genji snorts. “Hanzo, that was not nothing. In the few minutes I have been awake I have noticed how comfortable you are, how you smile and laugh at his jokes. You like him.” Hanzo looks at him with wide eyes, and it only confirms his suspicions. “See. You do.”

“I cannot—”

“Ah, I see you’re awake,” Ana says, walking through the door, carrying a tray with a bowl, a plate with bread, a teacup and a clear glass sitting atop. “I made you some barley soup.”

Genji looks at Hanzo, who shakes his head subtly; a cue that the conversation between them is over. For now; they will most definitely continue this conversation later.

He looks at Ana and smiles. “Thank you.” Genji grabs the pillow behind him, but Hanzo takes it and rests it against the wall. Genji leans back gently and notes the dull ache. It is not as painful as he thought it would be.

“Are you in any pain?” Ana asks, setting the tray down in his lap.

“Not much, no. I can manage with it.”

“Excellent,” she says with a smile. “No more opium for you, then. I do not want to be responsible for an addiction to it.”

Genji sheepishly looks at Hanzo; opium is something both are no stranger to. He turns his attention to the soup, grabbing the spoon and swirling it through the liquid. He notes the carrots, parsnip and chunks of meat in the golden coloured broth and salivates; the smell of it is truly delicious. He scoops up a chunk and brings the spoon up to his mouth, slurping it up and savouring the tenderness of the meat before swallowing. “This is very nice, thank you, Ana.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

Genji practically inhales the rest of it, dipping the bread in it to soak up the delicious liquid and drinking down the tea. When all the meat and vegetables are gone, he picks up the bowl and drinks the remainder; wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sets the empty bowl down.

“Yep, that’s about as fast I’d imagine someone who hasn’t eaten for two days would eat,” Jesse says from the doorway, leaning against it on his shoulder with his arms folded across his chest.

“Two days?!”

“You were drifting in and out of consciousness in that time,” Ana explains. “Do you remember any of it?”

“Not much,” Genji answers, shaking his head. He remembers being on the horse, then… nothing. “Nothing after talking with you on the horse.”

Ana nods, taking back the tray. She sets the untouched glass of water down on the nightstand and hands the tray to Jesse. “Be a dear and wash this up, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse says with a smile before leaving the room.

“I would like to check your wounds,” Ana says, approaching the bed.

Genji nods, shifting forward before carefully taking Ana’s hand and lying on his side then rolling over to his stomach. He props the pillow under his head, placing his hands under it. “How bad were the lacerations?”

As Ana peels away the dressing, Genji can see spots of blood on it. She takes the time to properly analyse the wounds before answering, “Some of the fresh wounds, the deeper ones, required sutures. The older, shallower ones I treated with a plant called yarrow.”

“Or _plumajillo_ as it’s known locally,” Jesse calls from the doorway once more. Genji sees Hanzo whip his head back fast to look at the man, and then sees Jesse smirk and wink. When Hanzo turns back around, even though he avoids eye contact, his pink cheeks are a dead giveaway for his feelings.

Genji can barely contain his grin or his excitement. He will _definitely_ need to talk to Hanzo about this.

Ana hums, continuing, “It helped bring your fever down and kill the infection. It was in the tea you drank.”

Genji nods. “So I’ll be scarred, then?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Ana says, leaning down for a closer look. “Genji, did you see who did this to you?”

Genji thinks hard about the times he was under the woman’s knife. His memory is so fuzzy from whatever they gave him to numb the pain. “She was tall, thin. Had short red hair and had an accent. I think Irish. Why?”

Ana looks at Jesse. “Does she sound familiar?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Naw, ain’t anyone I’ve come across. You?”

“No,” Ana says, turning her attention to the wounds. “An Irish accent in Santa Fe would certainly stand out, too.” She leans in, gentle fingers press on Genji’s back. “She has to be a doctor. The cuts are clean, surgical. Shallow over the spine, deeper over the muscle. She knew what she was doing.”

Genji nods. “The Reaper only called her ‘doctor’. No names.”

Ana hums, turning her attention back to Genji. “We’ll have to ask Reinhardt when he returns.” She presses his back again, inching closer to his wounds. “Tell me, does this hurt?”

When Ana applies pressure with a finger to his back, he answers, “I can feel a dull throbbing, but it is not painful.”

“How about here?”

Genji flinches and sucks in a breath as a sharp stabbing pain radiates from the touch. “Yeah, that one hurt.”

“I would like to keep you for one, maybe two more days. Get you to drink more _plumajillo_ ,” she says with a smirk, glancing over her shoulder to look at Jesse before turning back around, “to help your wound healing. I’ll be able to remove your sutures before you leave, too.”

“That will be fine,” Hanzo says after a moment of silence.

“It’ll give me some time to run a couple errands, if that’s okay with you,” Jesse says to Hanzo, who bows his head in response. He watches them stare at each other, look away, look at each other again while Ana applies a new dressing to his back. He decides he not only needs to talk to Hanzo about this, but Jesse, too.

“I would like you to walk around for a bit if you’re feeling up to it,” Ana says, sitting up and gathering the old dressing. “Perhaps get some fresh air. It will be good for you.”

Genji nods, rolling to his side and with Hanzo’s help, sits back up. Ana hands him a black shirt and he holds it up, and the thing might as well be a dress, it is that large.  

The frown must be evident on his face as Ana says, “I do apologise, this is the only men’s clothing we have in the house, and Reinhardt is a big man. I do not think it wise for you to wear your armour.”

Genji puts his arms through the shirt first before slowly lifting it over his head. He can feel the sutures pulling on his skin, and makes a note to be incredibly gentle with his movements. Slowly turning in place to swing his legs out of the bed, he then notices that he is in fact also bottomless, and is thanking this Reinhardt for being so large that the shirt pools in his lap, saving his modesty.

Hanzo hands him his hakama from a chair behind him, prompting Jesse and Ana to leave the room. “Do you require assistance?” Hanzo asks.

“I will manage,” Genji answers, offering a smile.

Hanzo nods and turns around, standing in the doorway.

Flicking the garment slowly to test his movement, he leans down as far as he can, kicking his legs through the hakama.

Bracing his feet on the ground, he attempts to bear weight by lifting off the bed and to his surprise, he is not as weak as he thought he would be. He stands to full height and pulls the hakama to his waist before bringing the hem of the shirt up and tucking it under his chin. Tying the ribbons of the hakama around his waist into tight knots, he even doubles them to ensure the garment does not fall while he walks. Pulling the hem of the shirt down and falling almost to his knees, he inhales and exhales slowly before taking small step, then another. Slow steps, but steps nonetheless. He walks up to Hanzo, placing a hand on his shoulder, smiling.

Linking his arm with Hanzo’s they walk slowly, entering the dining room. Sitting at the table is Ana, Jesse and a giant of a man, who Genji can only assume is Reinhardt. A pot of tea is sitting in the middle of the table, three full cups in front of them.

The large man looks at him, wide smile crossing his face. “Ah, our _Dornröschen_ is awake!” His voice is deep and booming, and Genji recognises his accent instantly as German.

Genji smiles. “Our what?”

“Reinhardt, you can’t call him that,” Jesse says, chuckling.

“He is,” Reinhardt says, laughing, “in both accounts!”

“Will someone care to explain?” Genji asks, taking a seat at the table next to Ana. She grabs the teapot, pouring tea into the two empty cups beside it.

“He just called you Sleeping Beauty,” Ana explains, handing him his cup.

“Thank you, Ana,” Genji chuckles. “And thank you, Reinhardt.” He glances at Hanzo who takes a seat next to him, a look of confusion on his face. “It is a children’s folklore tale in Europe, a princess is in a deep sleep and the only thing that wakes her is a kiss from a prince.”

A smirk teases Hanzo’s lips. “But you did not wake to a kiss.” He looks at Ana as she hands him his team bowing his head. “Thank you.”

“Well it’s not literal,” Jesse chuckles. “He was practically dead to the world for two days,” he looks at Genji adding, “And I think Reinhardt thinks you’re beautiful,” before he looks at the German, smiling.

“They are both beautiful men with their long hair,” Reinhardt says, laughing.

Genji smiles, running his fingers through his hair. He rarely wears his hair down even when relaxing, and feeling it on his shoulders and neck is annoying. He must have lost his hair band at home point, and he hopes his ribbon is with his belongings. He looks at Hanzo who is mirroring the action, running his fingers through the loose strands with his left hand.

That earns another belly laugh from Reinhardt, eventually settling down as he strokes his beard. “The family resemblance is striking!”

“I didn’t spot the family resemblance, not until I saw the two o’ you together,” Jesse says, smirking, looking between Hanzo and Genji. He folds his arms across his chest as he conducts his analysis, before finally pointing at Hanzo with a finger. “I think it’s the beard.”

Genji looks at Hanzo, then back to Jesse. “So the eyebrows didn’t give it away? They’re pretty distinct, don’t you think?”

Jesse looks hard between Genji and Hanzo again, narrowing his eyes. “Well, Hanzo’s aren’t as pronounced as yours. And I didn’t want to mention it; some folks can get touchy about their looks.”

Genji hums, looking at Hanzo’s eyebrows. “They’re Shimada eyebrows, but he has Mother’s eyebrows, too.”

“So your father has those eyebrows, too?” Jesse asks.

“Yep,” Genji confirms. And they are even more pronounced than his. “So did our grandfather and great-grandfather.” He taps at his left brow, smoothing it over. “Shimada trait.”

“Good thing for me I inherited my ma’s looks,” Jesse says, picking up his cup and drinking the last of his tea. “Only got the tanned skin from my father.” He looks back at his cup, sighing heavily.

Hanzo hums, and there is a sudden awkward silence. Genji looks between everyone at the table. Ana and Reinhardt glance at each other, faces sombre, and Hanzo is looking at Jesse, sadness on his face. Clearly, this is something that Genji is not privy to. He picks up his tea, taking a sip and noting it is different from the tea he had with his breakfast. Or lunch… he is not aware of what the current time is.

His attention is drawn to Jesse as he clears his throat and stands up. “Anyway, since we’re here for another couple of days, I might head into Albuquerque, pick up some supplies and replenish our water stocks for the trip back to Japan.”

“Do you require assistance?” Hanzo asks, standing up.

Jesse looks at him, smiling softly. “Naw, I’m fine. I got Bas, anyway.” He glances at Genji before turning his attention back to Hanzo. “You two get reacquainted. I’ll be back tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“I have a letter I would like posted,” Hanzo says.

“I know the one,” Jesse says, smiling. “I’ll add it to the pile and send them off. They should reach Japan in a week or so, definitely before we make it back, in any case.”

“That will be fine,” Hanzo says with a nod. He opens his mouth, looking like he is about to say something before deciding against it, closing his mouth and smiling. It falters for a moment, and Genji can see the slightest hint of disappointment on his face.

“Stay safe,” Ana says, standing up. She extends her arms, embracing Jesse.

Reinhardt stands up, and Genji gapes at his height; giant was not an understatement. He escorts Jesse out.

Genji turns his attention back to Ana as she clears the table, placing the empty mugs and the teapot on the tray and heading into the kitchen. When she returns, she looks at Genji, saying, “Go get some fresh air,” gesturing at the door leading out of the kitchen with her hand.

Genji finishes the last of his tea, as does Hanzo. Placing the flat of his hands on the table, he pushes up to standing. He turns to Ana when she chuckles.

“How Jesse didn’t figure out that you two were brothers is beyond me.”

Genji looks at Hanzo and realises at that moment that Hanzo mirrored his exact actions, placing his hands on the table, pushing himself to standing. Now he is going to be self-conscious of his actions and seeing if he mirrors Hanzo.

He guesses it is not unexpected. He looks up to his brother, after all.

When Hanzo offers his arm, Genji places a hand on his shoulder. “I think I will manage like this.”

Hanzo nods, and walking at Genji’s pace, which surprisingly is faster than before, they head through the kitchen and outside onto a back porch. There is a wooden swing at the far end, and they head towards it. Genji takes Hanzo’s hand to sit down before he sits down himself.

Genji takes a deep breath, noting the slight smell of horse manure in the desert heat. The stable, while a fair distance away, was still close enough that the odour carried.

He ignores that and looks at Hanzo. “Thank you for coming to rescue me.”

Hanzo smiles. “Of course.” Then his smile falters as he looks at his hands. “I will admit that initially the only reason I searched for you was because Father ordered me to.”

Genji hums. That was not entirely surprising. The elders have been in Hanzo’s ear as of late, and he had become quite distant in the months leading up to Genji’s apprenticeship with Jesse. The one person he could talk to about anything grew angrier with the world, with their father, and with him. It got so bad that Genji was glad the apprenticeship was coming up because he was getting of Hanzo.

“But I am glad that I came,” Hanzo says, smiling again. He places a hand on Genji’s shoulders. “I am glad that you are safe.”

“Did Father tell you I was in America?”

Hanzo’s eyes widen in disbelief, “He knew?”

“When Ikuko had not checked in from the Monastery, he tasked me with finding out what happened to her. I went to Nepal first and was told by the monks there that she never arrived. America was my next stop, but trouble found me before I found her.”

Anger flickers in Hanzo’s eyes as they glow blue. “I was not informed you were working under Father’s orders.”

“He knew the elders were feeding you falsehoods,” Genji says quietly.

“So he could not trust me?” Hanzo scoffs, standing up and looking into the distance. His fists are balled at his sides, and his tattoo glints in the light.

“It was not that he did not trust you,” Genji replies. Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself to standing, placing a hand on Hanzo’s bare shoulder, partly for comfort but mostly for balance. His fingers touch the tattoo, and they tingle under the touch. “He could not trust the elders. He had suspected them of conspiring against him when they took a vested interest in you.”

“And I listened to them, like a fool!” He strikes the wooden railing of the porch, the dragon on his arm lifts off, splitting into two as lightning sparks between them.

“You are not a fool for listening to them,” Genji reassures. He can only imagine how this must feel for Hanzo. A deception, being hidden from the truth of the situation. His anger is expected, because if the roles were reversed, Genji would be angry, too. “You had eight people in your ear, telling you what they believe to be true.” He squeezes Hanzo’s shoulder, ignoring the burning sensation as lightning dances on his skin. “You were strong for defying them for as long as you did. Father tells me that you were starting to recite their words in the last few weeks before I was sent to find Ikuko.”

Hanzo inhales deeply and the dragons hiss one last time, settling back on his skin. The burning subsides, fading into tingling, then nothing. Hanzo turns his head, looking at Genji as his eyes change back to dark. “I have come to realise that Father is not as weak as I was led to believe. That you are not a liability to the clan like I was led to believe.”

“And that would be why Father sent you instead of coming here himself. He was aware of their motives… He was aware the elders had planted the seeds in your mind to dethrone him so you could assume leader.”

Hanzo closes his eyes. “And he does not see me as strong enough to carry out their wishes. He must see me as weak,” he says slowly, sounding almost defeated.

“He believed that you would come to realise that their words were false when given the opportunity to see the world through your own eyes, not through the eyes of the elders who are stuck in the sixteenth century.”

Hanzo opens his eyes and nods. “Father is also not a fool, as I was also led to believe.”

“Father is a very wise man,” Genji says, looking at the horizon. Now that Hanzo has calmed down, now that he is finally seeing the world how it should be seen, he changes topics to something that has been on his mind for years, now. “He understands that I do not wish to follow his path, and allows me to live how I want.” He looks at Hanzo. “And I hope you understand that is what I want.”

Hanzo smiles. “I understand.” He places a hand on Genji’s. “You are not a liability, Genji. If anything…” He trails off, frowning. “If anything, I am jealous of this life you get to live,” he says quietly. Before Genji has a chance to even register the sadness behind those words, a grin crosses Hanzo’s face. “It is quite adventurous.”

Genji smirks, looking back at the seat. With Hanzo’s help, he sits down again. When Hanzo sits down, he looks at him and asks, “So, tell me about your feelings for Jesse McCree.”

Hanzo doesn’t say anything for a long while, but the look of joy and embarrassment on his face is telling enough. He looks at war with himself, like he is always at war with himself. If not honour versus freedom, it’s obligation versus free will. He always chooses what is right for the clan, what is right for the elders.

Just like right now Hanzo will be battling with his feelings for an American, and will most likely go against his true feelings in favour of the clan.

“He is a very kind man,” Hanzo says eventually, voice quiet. “More kind than I deserved.”

Genji narrows his eyes, wondering what he meant by that statement, then the realisation hits him. “You threatened him, didn’t you?”

Hanzo looks at him, smirk teasing his lips. “I might have held a blade to his throat when I asked for his help to search for you.”

“Brother!”

“‘Western influences will be the death of Japan’,” Hanzo says quietly. He inhales and exhales slowly, turning to Genji. “Those Western influences led to your discovery.” Hanzo places a hand on his knee, fingertips brushing against the metal. “Those Western influences gave me my life back,” he adds, voice barely a whisper.

There is a long stretch of silence as Hanzo just stares into the distance. Genji smiles; that was the first time he had heard Hanzo talk about his prosthetics in that way, gratefulness carrying on his voice. It seems being away from home was the absolute best thing for him.

When the silence continues to drag on, and when Hanzo silently chuckles to himself, Genji asks, “Did you tell him how you felt about that?”

Hanzo nods. “And I apologised for my behaviour. Though I do believe I owe him an explanation with regards to the elders.”

Genji hums. “I told him nothing of the clan.”

“I am aware.” Hanzo smiles, “I cannot believe he calls you ‘fish man’.”

Genji chuckles. “What does he call you?”

“My name.” The reddening of Hanzo’s cheeks betrays his words. When Genji hums and nods slowly, Hanzo huffs before adding, “Darling.”

Genji brings a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Has he not called you that?”

Genji laughs, shaking his head. “No, Hanzo. He’s never called me darling.”

“He said as much.”

“What else has he said and done?” Genji asks, excited. “I want to know how far he has gone with you.”

“He offered for me to browse his library.”

“Yep, offered me the same.”

“He makes me tea and batter bread.”

“He is a good man.”

Hanzo hums. “He offered to teach me to play the piano.”

“That… he has not offered me.” Genji looks at Hanzo, studying his features. “Have you?”

Hanzo shakes his head, then a smirk teases his lips. “There was a storm on our way here. We shared a few drinks…”

Genji’s eyes widen. “Brother… have you slept with him?!”

Hanzo giggles. _Giggles! Hanzo is giggling?!_ “No. But there might have been a kiss.”

“Might?!”

“There _was_ a kiss,” Hanzo says quietly, his smile faltering. “I did it without thinking about the consequences.” He pauses, bringing his voice down lower. “I am to be wedded to Sakuno, I am required to bear a son.” He pauses again, looking at Genji. “When I communed with the Dragon of the South Wind, they warned against having relations with Jesse. Those things alone dictate that I am not to have any kind of relationship with Jesse.”

Yep, Hanzo is definitely at war with himself. Genji takes a breath and looks out to the horizon. “Well, the Dragon of the South Wind holds no power over you. You know how they work, Hanzo. They are a part of you, a part of your own mind and are tuned into your own thoughts, feelings and desires. They act on _your_ behalf, they do not have their own motives.”

“‘The world will crumble beneath your feet; life as you know it will cease to exist’.” Hanzo’s words chill Genji down to the bone.

“They said that?”

Hanzo nods slowly. “A rather ominous warning.”

Genji searches Hanzo’s face, a tell, something that this has to be a joke, but like Father, he is stoic, unreadable. “Have they said anything like this in the past?”

Hanzo shakes his head slowly, looking into the distance.

“Mine has not said anything like that to me, either,” Genji mutters. “Do you believe them?” Genji turns to face Hanzo when he does not speak, he notices that his eyes are unfocused as he stares into nothingness, and probably did not hear the question. “Honestly,” Genji starts, brushing his shoulder against Hanzo’s to get his attention, “I do not think that the world will end if you slept with McCree. The both of you might be egotistical, but you are not that important to the functionings of the world that fucking him will result in a catastrophic event.”

Genji gives Hanzo a moment to speak, to respond to his crude joke which he knows should elicit a reaction, but he merely continues to look out to the horizon. The warning, while ominous and leaving Genji with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, cannot be true. “The dragons do not have the gift of foresight, Hanzo. They are old, ancient beings. The path chosen for you dictates that you are to marry and have a son, continue the Shimada name.”

“I am aware of this, Genji!” Hanzo barks. He turns to face Genji, and Genji can see the fire in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, inhaling slowly before exhaling just as slowly. “I am aware of this,” he repeats, calmer. “What point are you trying to make?”

“Having a relationship with Jesse goes against those traditional values the clan elders hold dear. The warning is meant to stop you from doing what you want, and doing what is right for the clan.”

Hanzo merely looks back to the horizon, sadness in his features—from his glassy eyes to his slumped shoulders. Genji sighs. He needs something else to work with… “You know Father has mistresses.”

“I am aware,” Hanzo says slowly, not breaking eye contact with the horizon.

“So you know you can have a relationship with Jesse on the side and no one will care.”

“She will,” Hanzo says as he turns to Genji. “Mother is distraught with Father’s ways. She says she is fine with it, but behind closed doors she despises it. I have lost count of the number of times I talked her out of walking away forever, ending their marriage.” Hanzo takes a breath, bringing his hands together and wringing them. “I vowed never to hurt Sakuno like Father hurts Mother.”

Genji takes a deep breath. “You are too honourable, Hanzo. You always do what is right for the clan, to maintain your own honour and it nearly killed you. For once in your life, do something _you_ want to do. It is not like you will invite Jesse back to live in the castle to be your mistress whenever you want him. We are in a different country on another continent, and you are not married. She would not know.”

“But I would,” Hanzo sighs.

Genji takes a breath and opens his mouth to argue the point, before closing it again. He turns to face Hanzo, a frown crosses his features as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. If he is arguing this hard, then it is a sign that Jesse means more to him than he is letting on. Trying a different approach, he asks, “What else did you do on your journey to America?”

“I spent the first five days in my chambers meditating. The storm was on the sixth, as was the kiss. Unable to face him, I stayed in my chambers for the duration of the journey.”

“So you have not discussed the kiss?”

“Not at length, no.”

“Do you know if he feels the same way that you do about him?”

Hanzo looks at Genji wide-eyed. “I…”

“He is calling you darling, though probably more like ‘darlin’’,” Genji says, putting on an American accent. If Hanzo’s scoff is anything to go by, he has butchered it. “He has offered to show you to play the piano. Two things he has not done to me.”

“He also built me a case to conceal my bow,” Hanzo says, smile growing wide. “He said that he made it from the scraps lying around the boat.”

“That was nice of him.”

“It is the most beautiful piece of workmanship I have ever laid eyes on,” Hanzo says, elation carrying on his voice. Genji can honestly say he has never seen Hanzo this happy. He decides in that moment that he will make it his personal mission to get them together; dragons be damned. It should not be too hard, considering the trip to Japan will take nearly two weeks anyway. They have nowhere to hide.

He then notes that he would have to talk to Jesse and tell him that if he hurts Hanzo, he will stop at nothing until justice is done. Genji smiles; it is something he has wanted to do for as long as he can remember.

“You will have to show me,” Genji says eventually.

With a nod, Hanzo stands up, offering his hand. Genji takes it, and they begin their slow walk back into the house.

* * *

“You’re doing great. Just one more…”

Genji winces as he can feel the thread, which he discovered was horsehair and almost had him retching earlier, being removed from his back; the skin tugging as it is pulled through.

“There we go,” Ana says, analysing it before placing it in a metal dish. She places a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. “You were so brave.”

Genji only nods and takes a deep breath, still feeling nauseous. He sits up and takes a series of gulps of water, finishing the glass.

“And you’re no longer lookin’ a shade of green,” Jesse chuckles from the doorway.

Humming, Genji looks over his shoulder. His back is red from the manipulation of the skin, blood beads from where the sutures were removed. He winces with each touch Ana makes as she dabs his back with a rag.

With a hum and a nod, Ana pulls away and reaches for the small tin on the nightstand. “Tea. Drink it twice a day until you have drunk it all. It will prevent infection and help to get your strength up.”

Genji takes it and flicks the lid, a small amount of dried pale green leaves sit at the bottom. “Thank you, Ana.”

“You’re welcome. And no wearing armour for a few more days, either."

Genji nods, looking at his chest plate sitting at the foot of the bed. He had been wearing his shitagi over the last couple of days after it was cleaned from the dried blood. The shirt probably needs another wash considering it is the only garment he has been wearing, but luckily he does have a spare and he can alternate and wash it before it gets too dirty.

He would rather be seen in a dirty, smelly garment than be seen in Hanzo’s clothes. He is sure Hanzo will be wearing his kimonos for the journey back and and there is _no way_ he would be seen in Hanzo's gi, least of all walking around wearing what is essentially half a garment. He grabs the shitagi from beside him, slipping his left arm through first, then his right. Crossing it neatly over his chest, he ties his green obi around his waist and stands up.

He approaches his armour, but Hanzo holds out his hand and shakes his head. Genji watches almost helplessly as Hanzo gathers everything together, placing what he can in the bag and slinging it over one shoulder before picking up the chest armour, holding it with one arm pressed to his chest. He then picks up the bow case Jesse made and slings it over the other shoulder.

"Here, allow me," Jesse says, extending his arms for the armour. Hanzo hands it to him and a look of surprise crosses his face as was clearly unaware of how heavy it actually is. Jesse quickly shifts the chest armour to his metal hand and holds it close to his chest. "Jesus, Genji, this thing weighs a ton."

"Which is why he is not to wear it," Ana interjects before Genji can say anything.

"It's no wonder you're as strong as you are," Jesse mutters. Genji only shrugs as Jesse hefts the armour in his hands for a better hold before cradling it to his chest, holding it with his metal arm. With a small affirming nod and a smile, he turns to Ana, saying, "Ms. Ana, a pleasure," placing a hand on her back and kissing her cheek.

"It was good meeting you Jesse,” Ana smiles, “it was lovely to be able to put a face to the name."

Jesse chuckles, bringing his free hand up to his face to rub his beard. "I don't usually look like this Ms. Ana. Normally I've just got the moustache, but I don’t have any appointments for the next little while, so I might as well let 'er grow out a bit more. Especially now that it’s not as itchy."

"Embrace the beard, Jesse," Reinhardt exclaims from the doorway. "It suits you much better than that bit of fuzz under your nose."

"I'll have you know that's the latest fashion," Jesse says, placing a hand on the giant's shoulder and leading him out of the room.

"Thank you for your assistance again," Hanzo says to Ana.

"It is nothing, dear. I'm always happy to help out a friend."

"If you have any more trouble, I am sure we will be able to offer assistance," Hanzo says, placing a hand on Genji's shoulder. Genji looks at Ana and nods.

"I've been through town and the saloon has been closed off,” Ana explains, “so I don't imagine any more trouble from the Reaper." A smirk crosses her lips as she says, "I do believe you took care of him."

Hanzo bows his head, turning to Genji. He uses the opportunity to turn to the woman, bowing his head saying, “Thank you for healing me.”

Ana smiles. “Think nothing of it, dear. It was good to call upon my herbalist skills again.”

Genji nods and follows Hanzo out of the room. They meet Jesse on the porch, he looks Hanzo up and down and clears his throat before adjusting the hat on his head to partially obscure his face. They _must_ have been talking about Hanzo. Genji looks up at Reinhardt and the man smiles back.

“Good luck to you, friends,” Reinhardt says, placing a hand on both Hanzo and Genji’s shoulders.

“And to you,” Genji says, bowing his head. When the man takes back his hands, both Hanzo and Genji bow, earning a deep belly laugh from the giant.

“Now don’t be a stranger, Jesse,” Ana says.

“I won’t ma’am. After I drop these boys off,” he places a hand on Hanzo’s back, “I’ll be on my way back, makin’ sure there’s no more trouble for you and the townsfolk.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Ana reassures.

“I missed not bein’ crowded by the masses,” Jesse muses. “Askin’ for my autograph, for my picture to be taken with them.”

With a chuckle, Ana turns to Hanzo and Genji, adding, “If the two of you find yourselves back in America, you know where to find us.”

Genji smiles and nods. The sentiment is nice, but it is unlikely he would be visiting America anytime soon. He honestly has had enough of this country.

“Anyway,” Jesse says, looking at his pocket watch. “We best be on our way.” With a final bow of his head to Ana and Reinhardt, Genji follows Jesse and Hanzo on the walk back to the boat. To say it was awkward would be an understatement—the entire seeming endless journey was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

Stuck between the two of them for all of it, Genji spent that time, partly unintentionally and through no fault of his own, observing Hanzo and Jesse after he caught them _both_ looking at each other while the other was not looking. The one time they made eye contact they both immediately looked away; Hanzo looking dead straight and Jesse coughed lightly and looked at his feet. Neither made an attempt to look at the other after that, they clearly have some level of sexual desire for each other, and this tension between them is just disgusting, frankly.

Relief washes over him when he approaches the ramp to the boat; not just from being able to finally separate himself from Jesse and Hanzo, but the sense of security and safety he feels from being in a place so familiar. He sees Bastion peering over the railing, waving and whistling happily, and Genji waves back.

They climb up the ramp and wait with Jesse in the engine room for it to withdraw and close the door. Genji never thought he would be this happy to see this hot, purple little room. He follows Jesse and Hanzo up the ladder shaft, opting to climb up last to take his time. To his surprise, he manages to climb the ladder with little trouble or pain.

He steps on the deck and looks at Bastion, then at Gany on his shoulder. Genji whistles and holds out a finger, and the dove flies to him, perching. “Hey Gany,” Genji coos, stroking his chest with the back of his finger. He looks at Bastion approaching, saying “And hi, Bas.”

_“It is good to see you again, Genji. Though I would have preferred it to be under better circumstances.”_

“You and me both,” Genji muses. He looks at Gany, bringing his finger up to his shoulder and the bird hops on, before grinning at Bastion. “I told you it would not be too long before I would be back, though.”

Bastion whistles and approaches the console, standing by Jesse’s side. _“We are ready to go when you are,”_ Bastion says.

Jesse glances back at Hanzo before looking at the console once more. “All right, let’s go.” Jesse flicks a lever and the boat shudders to life.

Genji takes a step to approach the console when he feels a gentle nudging on his elbow, looking to his right and seeing Hanzo there.

“You can understand him?” Hanzo asks quietly in Japanese.

“Of course,” Genji whispers back in Japanese. “I spent six months on this boat, the first thing I did was learn Bastion’s language.” He winks and stands next to Bastion, prompting Ganymede to hop onto the automaton’s shoulder as he takes hold of the console. After a moment and a flash of a smirk at a panicked looking Hanzo who is holding onto the railing with a white-knuckled grip, the gears clank together slowly and boat lurches forward, beginning their journey back to Japan.

“All right, Bastion,” Jesse sighs, “you know the drill. Let me know if we have any problems, otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.”

_“Not a problem, Jesse.”_

Jesse claps Bastion on the back before turning to Hanzo. He takes a breath and holds it, hesitating as he smiles and exhales. “Care for a drink? I could use one.”

Hanzo smiles. “Perhaps later? I wish to get settled in my chambers, perhaps meditate.”

A flash of rejection appears on Jesse’s face, but it is quickly replaced with his usual confident grin. “All right. After dinner, then?”

Hanzo bows his head and takes his leave, descending the ladder leaving Jesse in a state of disappointment, if his slouched posture, the burying of his hands in his pockets and the sigh he gives is any indication.

“I can have a drink now,” Genji says, nudging his shoulder against Jesse’s. A drink and an opportunity to talk to the man about his brother. It might just cheer him up.

Jesse looks at him and smiles. “Naw, it’s all right, Genji. Might actually have a get out of these clothes and have a soak in the tub.” Jesse approaches and descends the ladder, his usual swagger and confidence are completely gone.

Genji huffs, rubbing his chin and turning to Bastion. “I have never seen him like that.”

_“Neither have I. Your brother has broken him.”_

“I believe the word you are looking for is ‘in love’,” Genji chuckles, leaning on the console. “Hanzo told me they kissed.”

 _“Did they?”_ It never ceases to amaze Genji that even though Bastion talks in beeps and whirrs, he can be so expressive. _“Was that the night of the storm?”_

“Yeah, I think so.”

_“And that would be why your brother spent three days hidden away below deck. I told Jesse not to invite him for a drink because I knew Jesse would do something to annoy him.”_

Genji smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. So it seems Jesse has not spoken to _anyone_ about this, Bastion included, and he usually speaks to Bastion about _everything._ “From what I can gather, _Hanzo_ kissed Jesse.”

Bastion whistles, taken by surprise. _“Did your brother tell you he threatened Jesse in their first encounter?”_

“He did. He apologised for that.” Genji casts his eyes out the back of the boat, watching the desert fly past them. “Has Jesse talked to you about his feelings?”

Bastion throws his hands up in exasperation and lets out a long, low whirr. _“Of course not. Jesse does not talk to me about such matters.”_

Genji nods. “I am going to talk to Jesse. They need to sleep with each other to get over whatever _this,_ ” Genji gestures to the ladder shaft with his hand, “is.”

_“I suppose…”_

Genji looks at Bastion. “What is it, Bas?”

 _“Your brother…”_ He pauses, looking from Genji to Ganymede on his shoulder. Holding out a finger, Gany perches and Bastion gently brushes the bird’s chest with his other finger; Gany coos at the contact. _“It is nothing,”_ he says finally, turning to Genji.

“No, it is not nothing, Bas,” Genji says, smirking. “You’re usually not one to keep your thoughts hidden.”

_“I do not wish to offend.”_

Genji laughs. “Bas, Hanzo is the stuck-up spoilt heir to the great Shimada clan. He has a temper like you wouldn’t believe and he has a pennant for greatness.” He pauses, smile wavering before adding, quietly, “Even if that means listening to lies being fed to him to stroke his ego.” He looks at Bas. “There is nothing you can say that would upset me.”

_“I am afraid he will hurt Jesse. Not physically… emotionally. Jesse’s never been this invested in someone before.”_

“I’ve talked with Hanzo,” Genji reassures. “He won’t hurt Jesse.”

Bastion lets out another low whirr. _“All right. If he does, though…”_

“Yeah, I know, you and me both,” Genji mutters. “Jesse’s my friend too.” He steps away from the console and turns to face Bastion. “Anyway, I am going to wait in my chambers for Jesse to emerge so I can talk to him. It is good seeing you, Bastion.” He looks at Ganymede, patting his back. “You too, Gany.” He turns to walk away, but Bastion calls him back.

_“Genji, I am glad you are safe.”_

Genji smiles. “Thanks, Bas.” He descends the ladder, and stepping into the corridor he sees the door to Jesse’s chambers open. He approaches cautiously, keeping an ear out in case Hanzo made his way in there and that’s the _last_ thing he needs to see—his brother awkwardly flirting.

He doesn’t hear anything, and poking his head through the door, he sees Jesse’s legs crossed at the ankles, resting in his seat. Genji knocks on the door, and Jesse peers from the seat.

“Oh.” Disappointment carries in Jesse’s tone before he smiles. Hanzo truly has broken him. “Come on in, Genji. Take a seat.” He gestures to the seat next to him.

Genji sits down and Jesse upturns one of the whiskey tasters, pouring brandy into the glass before adding more to his own. “Thanks,” Genji says, picking up the glass.

“You’re welcome.” Jesse picks up his glass and takes a sip. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Genji says, leaning back in the chair. “In little pain and I can stand and walk for longer than ten minutes without the need to sit.”

“Very good,” Jesse breathes, looking at Genji’s arm. “So dragons, huh?”

“Yeah,” Genji says, looking at Jesse. “Been in the family for generations. Sorry I did not tell you, but it was a secret I had to keep.”

“Must’ve been weird being around me knowin’ I made your brother’s limbs.”

“A little. It was hardest not to talk about it. Hanzo was shattered when he lost his legs, and was whole again when he had them replaced.”

The grin that blooms from Jesse’s face at the mention of Hanzo is confirmation enough that there is more here. “Anyway, enough about me. I want to talk to you about my brother.” He looks at Jesse when he is met by silence and when Jesse looks at him, Genji raises an eyebrow.

Jesse groans, covering his face with his hand and slumps down in his chair. “Fuck, is it that obvious?”

Genji grins. “Is that supposed to be a trick question?”

Jesse sets his glass on the table and sits up, resting his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands. “I can’t stop thinking about him, Genji.” He runs his fingers through his hair and locks his fingers behind his head. “I’ve never seen anyone quite like him.”

“It’s the bare chest, isn’t it?”

“Genji!”

“His gi is a traditional garment, I would have you know,” Genji chides, taking a sip of brandy. “His chest is not meant for staring at.”

“Then why is it there?” Jesse asks, letting his hands fall to his lap. “God I want nothing more than to take that nipple—”

Genji covers his ears and screams incoherently so he cannot hear the rest of _that_ statement. “I don’t want to know what you want to do to my brother,” he groans when Jesse stops talking. When Jesse closes his mouth Genji uncovers his ears and says, “I _want_ to talk to you about your feelings towards him.”

Jesse nods, drinks all of his brandy before pouring himself more, drinking _that_ glass in one shot and pours himself another, this time sitting back in his seat with a noisy exhale. “You know me, Genji,” Jesse says, turning his head, “I don’t get emotionally invested because I’m always on the move. Your brother though,” he smirks and chuckles, “he’s got me fancying him like crazy. Ain’t never seen anyone so arrogant, so cocksure… so beautiful.”

Genji wrinkles his nose. “You have poor taste in men.”

“Good Lord how I just want him to…” Jesse trails off. Thankfully he has enough sense to _not_ continue that statement, instead winking before sighing and looking at the alcohol in his glass. A good thing, as it would have earned him a punch in the arm. “He said he was to be married. That he couldn’t have a relationship with me, even though that was what he wanted.”

“It is not uncommon for those with power in Japan to take on mistresses.”

Jesse scoffs. “Hey now, bein’ called a mistress ain’t what I want.”

“You know what I mean,” Genji says quickly. “He is to be married and it is not uncommon for them to sleep around. Our father does it.”

“And your ma knows?”

“She does,” Genji says to his glass. He looks at the amber liquid before drinking the lot. “She is not the woman she used to be, and that is due to our father’s promiscuous activities.” He holds out his glass when Jesse picks up the bottle, pouring alcohol in both their glasses. “But Father is quite excessive with the number of people he sleeps with.”

“How excessive?”

“He has eight different mistresses, male and female, who are employed by him. He does not hide his activities, and more often than not there are more than two present.”

“Shit,” Jesse breathes, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “How does your ma handle it?”

“She doesn’t. For her, she served her role and bore two sons. She drinks, scours the markets and collects pottery to fill in her time.” Genji looks out the window for a moment, looking at the town in the distance fly past them. “Guilts Hanzo into not treating his betrothed like Father treated her.”

Jesse slowly nods. “I see.”

“Hanzo is a man of honour. His word is his bond, and that is what he is struggling with. He is always at war with himself, stuck between honour, duty to the clan and the freedom to do what he wants.” Genji looks at Jesse, “And he wants you.”

Jesse groans, sitting back in his seat. “Do I have a chance with him? Or should I just spend the rest of the trip back to Japan trapped in here? Cause Genji, I can’t look at him without fighting the urge to kiss him.”

“I have talked with him, and I might have convinced him. But you will probably have your work cut out for you.”

“Got any tips on how to woo your brother?”

“He mentioned that you offered to show him how to play the piano?”

“Yeah, he was starin’ at it funny, he didn’t turn it down.”

“Start there. He loves music; listening to it, playing instruments… he will be keen on learning it.”

“Excellent.”

“Otherwise, have at him. In your chambers, of course. Keep in mind that I don’t need to see _or_ hear any of what happens between you two.”

“Will do, Genji.”

Genji looks at the alcohol in his glass, drinking it before standing up. He hears Hanzo’s door open and the very faint shuffle of feet on carpet; he is sneaking around. Genji smirks, looking at Jesse and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck,” he whispers as he sets his glass down.

He picks a book at random off Jesse’s bookshelf and leaves Jesse’s chambers. “He is all yours,” Genji says, winking as he passes a surprised looking Hanzo on his way to his room. He closes the door behind him, places the book on the nightstand and lies down on the bed, hands behind his head and crossing one leg over his raised knee.

“Hopefully after this Hanzo lightens up a bit,” he mutters.


	12. Giving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **History Alert:**  
>  \--In Edo Period Japan, polygamy was commonplace. Males tended to have mistresses or concubines, and the higher up in social class you were, the more it was almost expected. I do not condone cheating, it is incredibly wrong and hurtful and honestly, a dick move.
> 
> This is the chapter which earns the fic its explicit rating. For those interested, this fic is exclusively Top!Hanzo. 
> 
> **History Alert:**  
>  KY Jelly was invented in 1904, and by 1917 it was officially introduced as a personal lubricant. Therefore, in 1865, people had to improvise with lubrication. Back then, foodstuffs were used - the three of note were olive oil, a slick substance made by grating yams or by boiling seaweed. These will be discussed in this chapter. One of these will be used. Now, I do hope this goes without saying that while this fic is set in 1865, we live in the 21st century. For the love of all that is good and holy, don’t use anything other than *actual* personal lubricants you can pick up at a pharmacy for sexy time. They're safe, easy to use and won't destroy a condom!  
> And on that note, always practice safe sex irl, folks!

Hanzo glares at Genji as he passes and watches him retreat into his chambers. He stands in the corridor, refusing to move until he is satisfied that Genji will not come back out or peek through the open door to observe his movements. 

Reluctantly, Hanzo turns and looks at the open door of Jesse’s chambers. It was not his intention to intrude on Jesse, he was merely heading into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Perhaps he could share a cup with Jesse? He takes a step forward then stops, second guessing his decision. 

He repeats the conversation he had with Genji in his mind. He could give in to temptation, have his way with Jesse. He could keep it a secret, not tell anyone what happened. Technically he is not wed, he barely knows the woman he is to be wedded to and he is entering a marriage he does not want. On top of that, Jesse would not be residing within the castle walls, a mistress to sleep with whenever he wants. 

This… This is just an itch that needs to be scratched. 

_ “You are too honourable, Hanzo. You always do what is right for the clan, to maintain your own honour and it nearly killed you. For once in your life, do something you want to do.” _

Hanzo smirks, continuing his approach to Jesse’s room. He softly knocks on the door and Jesse sits up. The smile that blooms from his face makes Hanzo’s stomach flutter.

“Hey, Hanzo, come on in.”

Hanzo bows his head, taking a seat next to Jesse and sinking into the chair. He places his hands on the wooden hand rest as Jesse grabs a new glass and pours alcohol into it.

“Brandy,” Jesse says, handing the glass over. 

Hanzo gives the alcohol a quick smell before taking a sip. He notes a subtle fruity undertone as the alcohol sits on his tongue before swallowing. “It is pleasantly smooth,” Hanzo says, taking another sip.

“It’s a good drink for relaxing. I like to drink some when soaking in the tub with a good book.”

Hanzo smiles and nods. He imagines himself in his bath in Hanamura; a book in one hand and a cup of sake in the other. The thought of using it as a means of escape rather than just washing is enticing, and something he might just indulge in when he gets back home. 

He then thinks about soaking in the onsen, and practically groans; being in this desert has all but dried out his skin. He slips his hand up the sleeve of his kimono; his skin certainly feels dry under his fingertips. He thinks about sharing it with Jesse. How difficult it would be to keep his hands off him considering they would both be naked. The very thought of  _ touching _ him in a sacred space is enough to drive him hard; his breathing hitches as he feels a heat pool in his core, his cock swelling.

“Something the matter?”

Hanzo smiles, looking at the alcohol in his glass. A part of him wants to tell Jesse his deepest, darkest secrets, just for the thrill, to take Genji’s advice and  _ actually _ do something he wants to do. But years of training has conditioned him to have the clan’s best interests at heart, and those interests do not include Jesse. He eyes the golden liquid in his glass. Thinking about home, now he wants nothing more than sake. “I believe you promised sake when we boarded the boat.”

“I did, didn't I?” Jesse chuckles, drinking the rest of his brandy. Hanzo eyes the remainder in his glass and drinks all of it, noting that it does have a bit of a kick in larger quantities. He places his glass on the table, standing up when Jesse does. Extending his arm towards the door, Jesse drawls, “After you.”

Hanzo's mouth suddenly runs dry, and he cannot tear his eyes away from Jesse. Though not the first time Jesse has uttered those words, the way they just roll off his tongue, the silky smoothness of his drawl, now it leaves Hanzo literally frozen. It seems his interest has turned into full-blown infatuation, and right at this moment he wants nothing more than to kiss the man and lead him to his bed. 

Though, when Jesse takes a step forward, Hanzo finally finds the will to tear his eyes away.  _ Sake, _ he reminds himself as he leads Jesse into the kitchen. He takes the empty pot off the stove and fills it halfway with water, places it back and lights the lump of aether underneath.  

He turns to head into the recreation room and sees Jesse standing in the doorway, resting on it with his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest and silly grin on his face. About to ask what is so amusing, Jesse beats him, saying, “Anyone tell you you move fluidly? It’s like watchin’ water.”

Hanzo smiles, approaching Jesse. “No one has told me that, no.” 

“A result of your training?”

“Perhaps.” Hanzo stands in front of Jesse, and he makes no effort to move from the doorway. He thinks about reaching out, placing his hands on Jesse’s hips and standing on his toes, meeting the man and kissing him softly. He imagines Jesse picking him up, Hanzo would wrap his legs around his waist and giggle all the way to Jesse’s chambers, burying his head in the crook of Jesse’s neck to save himself the embarrassment. 

Instead of acting on that, Hanzo merely gestures to the recreation room next door with his hand. “We must place the sake in the  _ tokkuri _ so it can be heated. I saw you had one with your glassware.”

Jesse nods, pushing himself off the wall with his arm. “Sure did. The jug and cups were a gift from Shimazu-san. Even gave me special instructions on how to properly prepare it. Checkin’ for bubbles when it’s bein’ heated and whatnot.”

“That is the correct way, yes,” Hanzo says, following Jesse into the recreation room. Jesse proceeds behind his bar, picking up the jug and two cups. Hanzo extends his hands for them, taking the jug and again feeling the white ceramic under his fingertips. He traces his fingers over the wraparound blue overglaze, an image of two cranes in a pond, trees in full bloom with sakura and even clouds in the sky. “This really is a beautiful piece,” Hanzo breathes, rotating the jug in his hands. “You are lucky to have it in your possession.”

Jesse rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “I told him he didn’t need to get me anythin’, especially something that nice, but he insisted.”

“You were wise to accept the gift,” Hanzo says, looking at one of two bottles of sake on the shelf behind Jesse; the most renowned and most expensive bottle currently available. "Was that bottle also a gift?"

Jesse looks behind him. "It was, but I also picked up some more. Wanted to save that stuff for a special occasion."

"A wise choice. ' _ Morohaku',  _ meaning it is made entirely from polished white rice. It is rather expensive, and almost exclusively the calibre of sake I drink."

"A man of expensive tastes," Jesse drawls.

"As are you," Hanzo says, looking at the second bottle of sake. "This one," he starts, placing the ceramic on the bar as he walks around Jesse. He tries to ignore the fact his shoulder brushed against Jesse’s back but fails miserably as the lingering residual touch feels like fire and ice dancing on his skin at the same time. Shaking his head slightly, he picks up the bottle and continues his earlier train of thought, "This one is almost as refined as the other, and only slightly less expensive. Just as nice, however."

"Yep," Jesse chuckles, "I like to indulge when it comes to my alcohol. The cheap stuff is just nasty," he drawls, visibly shuddering.

Hanzo smiles. "This bottle, then?" he asks, holding it out. "I do not wish to consume your other sake, especially if you are saving it for a special occasion."

Looking at the bottle and frowning, Jesse replies, "I think saving Genji and makin' it out of Santa Fe in one piece constitutes as a special occasion."

Hanzo nods. "True. If that is the case, then we should inform Genji that we are drinking the better of the two. He would not be happy if we opened it and he missed out." Jesse shakes his head, a subtle movement and possibly involuntary. But the action is clearly meant as a disagreement to Genji joining them. "Or," Hanzo starts, smirking and bringing his voice down low, "we can indulge in this bottle now, and open the other later. I do not know about you, but I do not wish for Genji to join us right now."

Jesse looks on in a state of shock or awe, Hanzo is unable to tell which of the two it is. He visibly swallows, his Adam's apple bobs up and down, and subtly nods. "S-sure," he stutters, looking between the bottle and Hanzo. Jesse almost looks like he is at war with himself: his fingers twitch, his foot points slightly to the side. His breathing is rapid, shallow; his chest rises and falls quickly. And without warning, almost startling Hanzo with the sudden interruption, he chuckles, shakes his head and takes a step back, breathing deep. "Yeah," he says, taking another step back, "we can open the other bottle over dinner."

Hanzo nods, holding the bottle close to his chest. "Can you bring the  _ tokkuri _ ?" he asks, looking at the jug sitting on the bar. "I would hate to drop it."

"Of course," Jesse says quickly, picking up the ceramic.

Hanzo heads back into the kitchen and opens the bottle. When Jesse sets the jug on the table, Hanzo fills it to about half-way, that should get the both of them about three cups worth. He looks at the water on the stove, almost at boiling point and he extinguishes the aether. He side-steps for the wooden spoon from the drawer, the steam lifts off the water and twirls before it dissipates as Hanzo stirs it. When the water has settled, he places the jug into the water. Every few seconds he peers inside the opening, waiting for bubbles to appear at the bottom.

"I'm so glad I'm gettin' a demonstration of how to properly do this," Jesse says, taking a step forward. Hanzo stands to the side to allow Jesse to look into the bottle. " Shimazu-san did tell me never to take it further than bubbles rising to the surface, but I was a little apprehensive that I'd destroy it the first time I'd try."

"It is easy to take it too far, and just as easy to destroy the delicate flavours it offers," Hanzo says, peering inside the jug. "It does not take very long, and I prefer my sake warm, not hot."

"Is there a difference?"

"Not really, it is personal preference. Warm sake can be drunk straight away," Hanzo looks at Jesse, offering a grin as he says, "and I do not like to wait."

Jesse meets his eyes, smirking. "Noted." He peers inside the jug and pulls away, adding, "It’s lookin’ like it’s done."

Hanzo looks into the jug, seeing bubbles start to appear on the bottom. He nods, touching the neck of the bottle cautiously to check its temperature before lifting it out of the water and placing it on the bench. Grabbing the dishtowel from its rack, Hanzo wipes the sides and bottom of the jug before picking it up. "We have but a small window to drink this," he says as he hangs the dishtowel back.

"Then let's go," Jesse drawls, extending his arm to the doorway to the kitchen. Hanzo leads, entering the recreation room again and taking a seat at the bar. He pours the sake into the cups and Jesse takes a seat next to him. Hanzo hands him his cup and holds up his own. " _ Kampai. _ "

" _ Kampai, _ " Jesse repeats, clinking his cup against Hanzo's. Hanzo takes a sip and Jesse watches, before taking a sip himself. "Hmm, this is good."

Hanzo nods, taking another sip. "It is exceptional quality, yes. And now you know how to properly prepare it, it is something you can have more often."

"Yeah," Jesse says, taking another sip, "I was goin' to ask you how to do it on the trip up, but well... you know..." Jesse looks at him, smiles and takes a sip.

Hanzo nods, looking into his cup. "I do apologise for my behaviour."

"You've already apologised, Hanzo. Don't think anything of it."

Hanzo chuckles, deciding on drinking the rest of this cup in a gulp, much as he knows he should enjoy it. "You are too forgiving."

"It is one of my many flaws," Jesse drawls. Hanzo looks up at him, and he is met with a smile. "Was taught 'forgive and forget'. Some things I ain't ever gonna forgive nor forget, but a simple misunderstanding... I've seen too much of the world, been around too many people to be bothered by something so small."

Nodding slowly, Hanzo places his cup down on the bar. He waits for Jesse to finish his before pouring them both more, Jesse’s cup before his own. "You are a good man, Jesse." He peers into his cup, bringing his voice down low as he adds, "If the roles had been reversed, I would not have hesitated to kill you while you slept."

"Jesus Christ!" Jesse barks, catching Hanzo by surprise.

"Apologies, I—"

"Naw, it's all right, Hanzo," Jesse says quickly. "You're an assassin, and one who holds a grudge, by the sounds of it." He chuckles and that is when Hanzo knows everything is okay as Jesse adds, "Good thing I'm on your good side, then."

"A good thing, yes," Hanzo smiles, taking a sip of sake. There is a lull in conversation, and Hanzo can only think about how over the years his anger and hatred has grown, now an almost uncontrollable fire burning within him that was fueled by the elders. He thinks about the betrayal of the elder, how she said that she was not acting alone, then about his conversation with Genji, how his father had suspected that an attempt was going to be made on his life. Hanzo wonders if he knew that it would have been by his hands.

Hanzo places his cup on the bar and looks at his hands. He studies the backs of his hands, following the tendons from his wrist to his fingers before turning his hands over and analysing his palms. He looks at each crease line and shakes his head, disgusted at the thought that these very hands would have been used to end his father's life.

With a snicker, he picks up his sake cup and once again drinks all of it. If he has his way, he will see all of the elders dead for their manipulation, for betraying the clan.

Now fully in a state of anger, he looks at Jesse who is looking back at him, and for a brief moment it fades away into nothingness.

"Everything okay?" Jesse asks softly.

Hanzo huffs as it returns. He knows, though, that Jesse is not deserving of his anger. "Yes," he says calmly. "Just some things I learned from  Ikuko and Genji about the politics of the clan."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No," Hanzo says, shaking his head. "It is something I will handle when we are back in Japan."

Jesse only nods, placing his empty cup on the bar. He pours the last of the sake, filling Hanzo's cup before his own, even though he does not get nearly as much as Hanzo. "Well, the offer still stands. Any time you need to talk about anything, you know when to find me. Folks'll tell you I'm a good listener."

Hanzo only chuckles, taking a sip of sake. Jesse would not understand the workings of the clan. He would not understand that there are people within the castle's walls who are centuries old, and he would not understand that they all deserve to die. It is a good thing that Genji is back on the boat, because if Hanzo could not vent his frustrations he would take his anger out on the wall of the boat.

"Is there anythin' else I can do?" Jesse asks.

Shaking his head again, he looks at Jesse. While Hanzo could very easily take his hand, lead him into his chambers and lie with him, pound him hard and senseless like he has done so many times with whichever courtesan –  _ orian  _ or  _ kagema _ – he can get his hands on, he knows Jesse—a trusted friend— does not deserve that. 

When absent a person, Hanzo would turn to music. And of course he also finds himself absent of an instrument.

He grumbles under his breath. Perhaps after this he will just retreat to his chambers and pleasure himself until he is nothing more than a dirty, exhausted mess and he can sleep the rest of the day away like he did after the kiss.

"How about I show you how to pay the piano? You seemed interested in it when you boarded."

Hanzo's eyes all but light up, looking over his shoulder to the instrument in the corner of the room. That will do. He nods eagerly as he says, "I would be most appreciative. I turn to music in times of anger, and was starting to fret as I do not have an instrument on me."

"What do you play?"

"Shamisen mostly," Hanzo replies, taking a sip of sake. "But also the shakuhachi. Perhaps when we arrive back home, I can show you."

"I'd like that," Jesse replies with an eager smile. “You said the shamisen was a stringed instrument, what is the shakuhachi?”

“It is ah…” Hanzo trails off. He thinks about trying to explain how it is made from bamboo, the size of it and the sounds it produces, but instead he smirks, sits up straight and draws his shoulders back before he holds his hands in front of him, takes a deep breath and blows slowly, steadily. He imagines playing his favourite piece, moving his fingers to match. If the twinkle in Jesse’s eye and the grin on his face is any indication, there is a comparable instrument in Western culture.

“We got something similar, it’s called a clarinet.”

Hanzo smiles, resting his hands in his lap. “It is a beautiful instrument, something usually reserved for  _ Komusō  _ monks , but I was required to learn it as part of an assignment and I have not stopped playing it.” 

Jesse only nods and smiles, the same nod and smile he gives whenever Hanzo mentions his life as an assassin. “It was an infiltration assignment,” Hanzo explains.

“So no… y’know.”

“Assassinating? No.” 

This first part of the assignment was infiltration into Nagoya—enemy territory. Hanzo needed to get in, move around unencumbered and get out without anyone knowing. Given the clan in control of the area were enemies to the Shimada clan, they knew what Hanzo, Genji and most of the senior members within the clan looked like. The second part involved the assassination attempt, but that was after the guise was dropped. Hanzo figures Jesse does not need to know that part, given his distaste for discussing such matters.

“The monks exclusively played the instrument and were given a pardon by the shogunate to travel as they pleased, spreading their practice across the country. In return, the monks were required to spy on the shogunate’s enemies within their territories. As awareness of this grew, the monks suspected that they had spies within their own ranks.”

“How’d they figure that out?”

“Part of the monks’ dress  includes wearing a  _ tengai _ —a head covering made of straw,” he explains in response to Jesse’s furrowed brow. “Your identity is concealed, and considering the monks had a pardon, it essentially gave anyone access to territory one would normally be scrutinised in.”

“Right,” Jesse breathes, “makes sense. So what was the work around?”

“New initiates had to play a somewhat difficult piece. ‘ _ Shika no tone’ _ ,” Hanzo breathes, bringing  a hand up to his chin and stroking his beard. “So difficult, that out of everyone in the clan, I was the only person who could play it without error.”

“That so?”

Hanzo nods, grinning. “Anyone who entered the monk’s ranks and refused to play the piece, or played it with error were arrested and accused of being a spy. It was imperative that whomever they sent in would not make a mistake.”

“And you still play it now, even after your assignment?”

“I do, it is good for relaxation, especially on the more difficult days.” Hanzo pauses, looking into his cup. The instrument was often the only thing keeping Hanzo grounded enough in the early days of his recovery, having nothing to do other than rest and recover—Hanzo looks up at Jesse and smiles—and wait for the American to respond to their query. “I almost brought it with me, but attaining another shakuhachi after the trouble it took to gain the first was not worth the risk.”

“Fair enough,” Jesse breathes, finishing the last of his sake and prompting Hanzo to do the same. He places his cup on the bar and shakes out his hands. "Right, so the piano is fairly easy to play, easy to come up with a tune. The hardest part is remembering the order of the keys."

Jesse approaches the piano and sits on the stool. He lifts the lid and holds it in place with a piece of wood, exposing a series of wires running diagonally across the rectangular case, tightly wound and seemingly able to to be tuned. 

"I had not expected it to look like this," Hanzo breathes, peering inside the piano. The notes it produced when Jesse gave his earlier demonstration was something he had not heard before, and had not surmised it even had strings.

"Yep, the way the piano works is you hit a key," Jesse taps a key, "it kicks up the hammer and hits the string, which gives us that classical piano sound." Jesse runs his fingers over several of the keys in quick succession, each producing a higher note as they are played.

"This is remarkable," Hanzo muses, tapping the last key on the right of the piano and watches as the hammer hits the wire. He leans back, smiling at Jesse. "Please, continue."

Jesse holds his fingers over nine of the white keys directly in front of him, every finger over a key minus the thumb on his left hand. "Right, so this key here," Jesse taps at it with his right thumb, "is Middle C. You can find it by sitting at the centre of the piano, the two keys to the left of these two black keys." Jesse points at them with his left hand, before pointing to the key to the left of every group of two black keys. "Every key is a C, and very important to know." He taps at each C key from right to left, five in all, and the notes get progressively lower with each one. He looks over his shoulder, asking, "You with me?"

"Yes," Hanzo nods.

"All right," Jesse breathes, looking at his finger placements. "The next thing you need to know is that each key has a letter denoting it. It's a repeating pattern of 'A, B, C, D, E, F, G'," Jesse says, starting with the middle finger on his left hand and tapping each key slowly in succession, all the way to his little finger on his right hand. "This is called an octave. If you want, copy my finger placements on this end of the piano and have a go."

Hanzo nods, taking position on Jesse’s right and looking at his hands. He finds the C key and arranges his fingers accordingly, before starting with the A key and slowly working his way to G. He looks at Jesse and smiles. "This is quite enjoyable."

Jesse smirks, nodding. "That's good to hear." He looks back at the piano, and Hanzo notes the pink in his cheeks. He clears his throat as he adds, "Now, I'm goin' to play a scale." With a subtle nod, Jesse plays only with his right hand starting with his thumb, however unlike the octave, there is a finger shift—Jesse slides his thumb in place of his fourth finger before he finishes the piece in succession. When he is finished, Jesse taps the final key a few more times, adding, "This one is called above Middle C." 

Hanzo nods and smiles, looking at Jesse, not at the key. Jesse looks from the piano to Hanzo, his frown eases into a smile and he chuckles, sweeping his hair behind his ear with his left hand.  He turns his attention back to the piano, his cheeks flushing a bright red and he clears his throat. "And you can do the same with your left hand," he continues, quietly. Jesse holds his hand over the keys and pauses, hesitates. He shakes his head slightly as he says, "This key is below Middle C," tapping it a few times with the little finger on his left hand. He plays the scale, and Hanzo notes that it is almost a reversal of the first scale as there is a finger shift here too. Then, Jesse arranges both hands and plays the scales in perfect sync. 

Hanzo watches in awe; noting how his fingers move over each key like water, flowing effortlessly, and even though his left hand is mechanical, artificial, he plays with the same ease as if it were his own flesh and blood. 

"Just like that," Jesse breathes, looking at Hanzo. “Care to give it a try?"

Hanzo nods eagerly and Jesse stands up and out of the seat, kneeling beside the chair. Hanzo sits down and holds his fingers over the keys like Jesse did when he first sat down, the thumb of his right hand resting on Middle C.

"Okay, start with an octave," Jesse says.

Taking a moment to recall an octave, he arranges his fingers on the keyboard and plays in quick succession.

"Nice one. Now, reverse it."

Hanzo smiles, playing the octave in reverse.

"Great. Now switch to a scale with your right hand."

Hanzo nods and arranges the fingers of his right hand. When he plays, his movements are slow, wanting to play it correctly the first time. When Jesse does not object, Hanzo repeats the scale, this time increasing his speed; his confidence grows.

"Perfect, now with your left."

Hanzo switches to his left hand. He starts slow, and this time feels a little more awkward; there is no timing between the notes as he tries to recall the finger placements for this scale without confusing them with the scale he just played. He smirks as he plays it without making an error, and just like previous, Hanzo plays the scale two more times to gain his confidence.

"Now both at the same time."

Hanzo grins, almost expecting Jesse to have assumed the challenge too difficult. Taking it on, he plays both at the same time, then starts to realise that using all ten fingers at once and maintaining even timing is quite difficult. He makes his first mistake at the first finger change, throwing him off. He frowns and opts to restart rather than continue, and when he makes another simple error, he stops and huffs. Jesse had made playing with both hands seem so effortless, and the fact he can play is a testament to his abilities.

Hanzo glares at the keys as if they are at fault, and when Hanzo feels Jesse’s hand on his back, he starts, looking at the man, his frustration dissipating.

“It’s all right,” Jesse says softly, “this is your first time and you’re doin’ great. You’re attempting something that takes several lessons to master. Just give it another shot.” 

Hanzo nods and smiles, looking back at the keyboard and this time, focusing on taking it slow and getting it right on his first attempt. His confidence grows with each note, he makes his finger changes at the correct times and finishes the piece. He pauses only for a moment when he feels Jesse’s fingertips rub circles into his back, and repeats the tune. Much to his dismay he plays it just as slow as the first time, his attention focused on the gentle pressure of Jesse’s fingers. When he finishes this time, he looks at Jesse and his breathing hitches—he had moved in closer at some stage and is now remarkably close, so close that their shoulders are pressed together and if Hanzo wanted to he could lean in and kiss him. 

Jesse looks at him, his eyes flicker to Hanzo’s lips then back up again. "You're a quick study, Hanzo," he says, voice low and husky.

Hanzo bows his head. "Thank you." As much as he wants to lean in and kiss the man, the will to play a song is stronger. A little surprised that he has to tear his eyes away from Jesse, he glances at the piano, saying, "I wish to play something."

Jesse nods, looking at the piano. "I can teach you my favourite piece, it's easy to play and has a simple melody. But first, I need to teach you about these black keys." The hand on Hanzo’s back disappears, and a part of him aches, even though it still feels like it is there as the residual touch lingers. Hanzo’s attention is drawn to the piano when Jesse plays the two keys beside Middle C in alternation. "These are called sharps or flats, depending on which order you play. Go from a white key to a black to the right of it,” he presses Middle C, then the black key to its right, “and it’s a sharp. But go the other way...” He then presses the D key, then presses the same black key, “And this is a flat.” He repeats the sequence, saying, “C sharp and D flat.”

Hanzo nods slowly. The fact that the same key can have a different name adds a complexity to the instrument, and he loves it. “Are they used often?”

“Sometimes, depending on the music.” Jesse opens the drawer on the table beside the piano, pulling out sheets of paper. He quickly flicks through each one, finding the one he is after, placing the pile back in the drawer and resting the sheet on the stand. The sheet music is not too unfamiliar, assuming each symbol represents a note. “This is called ‘Moonlight Sonata’ by the great Beethoven, and it relies on them.” Jesse places his right hand on the keyboard, near Middle C. “Thumb on A flat, middle finger on D flat, and little finger on E,” he says, pressing each one as he plays them individually. Then, he holds down each key as the next is pressed, creating a melody which is simple and beautiful, and easy to tell why it is a favourite of Jesse’s. Hanzo has only listened to this part and he can already tell he would love this piece. Jesse finally stops, pulling his hand away. “Now you.”  

Hanzo places the fingers of his right hand where Jesse’s were and plays the tune in the same timing as Jesse, repeating it over and over like he did. Hanzo sees Jesse nod, a look of steely concentration on his face as he analyses Hanzo’s fingers before Jesse arranges his left hand at above Middle C, simultaneously pressing two keys with his thumb and little finger and holding them down for four of Hanzo’s repetitions. At the fifth, Jesse moves the same fingers to another set and holds this for four repetitions, before switching back to the first. The addition of this deeper melody adds another layer of complexity, another level of admiration for the piece.

At the conclusion of the fourth repetition, Jesse grabs Hanzo’s left hand. Hanzo falters only for a moment before recovering and watching as Jesse arranges his hand to press the same keys that he just did. Feeling the heat rising to his face, Hanzo looks at Jesse’s hand sitting perfectly on top of his as it is slowly moved to the second melody at the conclusion of the fourth repetition. 

Hanzo can feel his heart practically beating out of his chest. As much as he tries to focus on the music, he cannot help but hear Jesse’s breath in his ear, feel his beard scratch his cheek, his hair tickle his neck, the slight press of his chest to his back and the gentle squeeze of his hand on his waist.  Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat as he sees Jesse move in closer, he turns his head and Jesse’s nose brushes against his cheek. The hand on Hanzo’s waist slides up his back slowly, leaving a trail of fire in its wake before settling on the nape of his neck. He sees Jesse smile as he pulls away slightly, and Hanzo finds himself chasing him, only to be met with Jesse coming back in, closer but not touching. The music all but dies when Jesse weaves his fingers between Hanzo’s on the piano.

In the silence, Hanzo hears Jesse’s slow, ragged exhale, feeling it on his lips, so warm against him like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day.  He breathes in Jesse’s air, a mix of sake and the stale cigar smoke on his skin and is hit with a sense of euphoria; his eyes fluttering. Looking from Jesse’s lips to his eyes for only the barest of moments, he notices Jesse’s pupils blown wide. He smiles, looking back down at Jesse’s lips and leaning in slowly, closing the distance between them. His nose brushes against Jesse’s and he hears a faint whimper as he takes hold of Jesse’s arm with his right hand, turning in his seat slightly for a better angle.

Hanzo exhales sharply through his nose when his lips brush against Jesse’s and he groans low in his throat when their lips connect. Hanzo slides his hand up Jesse's arm to behind his head, keeping him in place as the kiss deepens, their tongues dance together in a natural rhythm not unlike the music they just produced. 

The kiss recedes quickly as Hanzo pulls away, completely mindful that he is twisted awkwardly as the muscles in his chest start to protest. Jesse tilts his head to the door and Hanzo nods in response, a silent acknowledgement that he is ready for what comes next, that there is nothing in the world he wants more right now than Jesse McCree.

Jesse stands up, letting go of Hanzo’s left hand only to grab his right. They hurriedly walk back to Jesse's chambers, Hanzo trails behind given the narrow doorways. He closes the door behind them as he is practically dragged to the bed and pulled down when Jesse falls backwards onto it, Hanzo lands on top of the man with a grunt and a chuckle.

Bracing himself with one hand on the bed, Hanzo slowly sits up, cupping Jesse's face and dragging his hand through Jesse's beard. “This amount of facial hair does suit you.”

Jesse smiles wide, bringing his hand up to his chin. “Shame I'm goin’ to get rid of it before we land in Japan. I need folks to recognise me for me, not the disheveled cowboy I am now.”

“It is a good thing I have almost two weeks to convince you otherwise,” Hanzo breathes, leaning back down and capturing Jesse's mouth again. He straddles Jesse's lap, his weight on his knees before acting on pure desire and rolls his hips, grinding against him.

“Fuck,” Jesse hisses against Hanzo's mouth. Hanzo pulls away and rests his forehead against Jesse’s closing his eyes when he feels Jesse’s hands slide down Hanzo's back, settling on his waist, guiding each gyration.

Moving his hips from side to side minutely, he can feel Jesse’s erection against his own. The grip on his hips only tightens as Jesse moans softly, and Hanzo finds himself biting his lip to keep his volume down.

“Don’t have to be quiet, baby,” Jesse whispers.

Hanzo opens his eyes and pulls back, looking at Jesse with longing. With one final hard, long grind against him, Hanzo sits up and works on getting the buttons on Jesse’s shirt undone. His hands hover above Jesse’s bare chest, taking in his body hair, the sheer amount he has is something that Hanzo did not think possible. 

He glances at Jesse, watching on in a state of somewhat fascination. Jesse slides his hand under his head and nods, and that is all the convincing Hanzo needs to finally press his hands to the middle of Jesse’s chest. He feels the dark hair under his fingertips, softer than he had imagined, looking as it not only spreads across his pectorals but down his torso and disappearing in his undergarments. 

Sliding his hands sideways, he explores Jesse’s pectorals, somewhat surprised at the firmness of them. Jesse is solidly built, though Hanzo had expected more softness to him. When Hanzo gives Jesse’s pectorals a good squeeze, Jesse smirks. 

“Like what you see?”

“And what I feel,” Hanzo says, nodding. He drags his hands down Jesse’s torso, fingernails raking against his skin. While Jesse does have a bit of softness to his midsection, Hanzo can definitely feel the muscles underneath. Hanzo smiks, “I have never been with someone such as yourself.”

“In what way?”

“Someone so hairy,” Hanzo breathes, dragging a hand down Jesse’s stomach, over his navel and then down lower, over his clothing. He shifts his weight to his knees and braces himself on the bed with his other, turning his hand as he says, “or someone so large,” as his hand settles on Jesse’s cock; twitching under his touch.

Jesse groans, a noise which Hanzo decides is the most alluring sound he has ever heard, before he climbs off the man. The whimper that follows is equal parts adorable and amusing.

“I trust you have lubrication?”

Smirking, Jesse shimmies his way up the bed and turns to his side, opening his drawer and pulling out a small, brown glass jar. He holds it out and Hanzo crawls up the bed and takes it, unscrewing the cap and peering inside. He cannot see much, other than the liquid contained inside is thick; thicker than water. 

Tipping the bottle, Hanzo pours a little on his finger, analysing the liquid. It shines, glinting on the light coming in through the window and appears to have a slight golden tinge to it. He rubs it between his thumb and finger nodding. This, whatever it is, will most definitely do. “What is this?”

“Olive oil. Used mostly for cooking, but the ancient Greeks have been usin’ it for more pleasurable applications for centuries.” Jesse pauses for a moment before asking, “What do you use?”

“ _ Tororo-jiru _ . A substance not unlike this, slick and obtained from grating yams.”

“Yep, I can see how that’ll work,” Jesse says. “A lot of effort, though.”

Hanzo hums. “It is also common to boil red coloured seaweeds. It produces a similar substance in greater quantities, and it is believed that it moisturises and protects the insides.”

“That right?” Jesse scoffs. “Ain’t never come across seaweed as a lubricant.”

Hanzo flashes Jesse a devilish grin. “Perhaps—” he starts, catching himself.  _ This is an itch that needs to be scratched, _ he repeats to himself, a means to get over his infatuation with the man. There will not be any more sex after this,  _ especially _ within the castle’s walls. He looks at the liquid inside the bottle, nodding. “This will do,” he says quietly. 

He leans forward to put the bottle on the bedside table, eyes flitting to the contents of Jesse’s open drawer when something catches his eye. He looks back and scoffs, blindly putting the bottle on the table as he reaches in and grabs the item, taking hold of the large round base. Heavier than it looks and most likely made of wood, he analyses the sex toy—an anatomically correct penis. The head is painted a dark red while the shaft a pale pink, he turns it in his hands, noting it even has veins on the underside. He looks at Jesse and smirks, “You certainly an uninhibited man.”

Jesse barely makes eye contact, his cheeks flushing a bright red. “Gets lonely,” he says quietly.

Catching Jesse’s obvious discomfort, Hanzo lies down on his side. He places the toy between them and cups Jesse’s face with his hand. “There is no need for embarrassment.”

“Do you…”

Hanzo shakes his head. “No, but I am not absent a person when I wish for them so I am never truly alone. Though we do have items such as these back home.” He picks up the toy, analysing it again. A smirk teases his lips as he looks from it to Jesse. “We could have fun with this.”

“The adventurous type too,” Jesse grins. 

“I am what you would call… unconventional in the bedroom.”

Jesse's grin grows wider, his confidence returning. “All right, what do you have in mind.”

Hanzo takes Jesse's hand, placing the toy in his open palm. “I want to watch you use this.”

Jesse looks at it, then back at Hanzo. He drops the toy to the bed, hooks his hand behind Hanzo's head and pulls him into a fierce kiss. They find a rhythm almost instantly, not faltering when Hanzo feels Jesse slide over, not when Jesse hooks his leg behind Hanzo’s, or not when Jesse rolls Hanzo onto his back and lies on top of him. 

They do pause to breathe when Jesse grinds against Hanzo, drawing a moan from his lips. Hanzo takes the opportunity to slide his hands on Jesse’s shoulders and pull his shirt down, something Jesse does one arm at a time before throwing it behind him. Hanzo then slides his hands down Jesse’s sides, slipping both index fingers on the inside of his trousers before meeting in the middle, unbuttoning them. Once unbuttoned, he works on unbuttoning his undergarment before slipping his hand inside and dragging it down his length and wrapping his hand around it. 

Jesse hangs his head low, burying it in the crook of Hanzo’s neck. Hanzo pulls him slowly, and Jesse minutely rolls his hips before groaning and pushing himself to sitting. Hanzo gapes at Jesse in his hand: his red tip, how large he  _ actually _ is. His attention is drawn to Jesse once more as he runs his hands down Hanzo’s chest, all the way down to his obi, untying the blue silk. He slides his hands into the kimono and bites his lip, a ragged breath escaping his lips when his fingertips touch skin. 

Jesse’s hands slide down Hanzo’s sides, dragging them and pulling on the skin taut. He hums and bites his lips, prompting Hanzo to look down at himself to see that his abdominal muscles are accentuated. 

“Ain’t ever seen anyone like you either,” Jesse breathes, placing the palm of his flesh hand on Hanzo’s lower abdomen before splaying his fingers and raking his hand upwards. “Never had the pleasure of lyin’ with someone so muscular.”

Hanzo does not say anything, he just watches as Jesse explores every inch of his bare chest; both with his eyes and his hands. Hanzo’s arms are freed of the kimono, and Jesse spends just as long analysing the tattoo, watching it intently when it pulses and glows; responding to his touch. As Hanzo’s arousal grows, sparks start connecting with Jesse’s fingertips and Hanzo can feel the static electricity building between them.

Eventually, Jesse blindly grabs the bottle of oil off the table and sits back up, waggling his eyebrows. “So just how much watching do you want to do, Mr. Shimada.”

Hanzo snorts, propping himself up on his elbows. He notes Jesse’s cock resting on his torso, leaving a nice spot of precome just below his navel. “I would like to watch all of it.” 

“And what if I want you to fuck me?”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. “If you give me a good enough show, perhaps you will get what you want.”

Jesse only chuckles, sliding downwards and dotting kisses along Hanzo’s chest. Hanzo laughs, his beard tickling as he moves lower and lower; the laughter then turns to a half grunt-groan when Jesse pauses, licks below his navel where his cock was resting before grazing his teeth on the sensitive flesh and catching on his hakama. Jesse looks at him with hungry eyes, maintaining eye contact as he mouths over Hanzo’s bulge. Hanzo swallows thickly as Jesse buries his head against Hanzo’s groin, breathing deep.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” Jesse whispers when he pulls his head back up. Once again Hanzo does not answer, enjoying Jesse’s face against his bulge as he unties the strings on his hakama.

With a nod to Jesse, Hanzo slides them down and Jesse takes over, pulling them down as Hanzo lifts his hips. Jesse licks his lips as Hanzo’s cock springs free from its confines. 

“Do you not wear undergarments?”

“Not when I am relaxing.”

Jesse covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Ain’t nothin’ better than wearin’ nothin’ at all,” he says eventually, taking Hanzo in his hand. Hanzo exhales sharply and falls back onto the bed, and is met with bitter disappointment when Jesse climbs off him. He puts his weight back on his elbows and glares at Jesse, who says with a grin, “If you want your dick sucked you’re gonna need t’do a little more than just watch me pleasure myself.”

Hanzo huffs, sliding his hakama off and sitting up, folding it and his kimono neatly before draping them on the back of one of the chairs. On the bed, he lies on his side, head propped up on one hand as he watches as Jesse drops his garments to the floor and walk around the bed before climbing back on. Facing Hanzo, he stands on his knees and sultrily pours the oil on two of his fingers. Maintaining eye contact with Hanzo, Jesse reaches around behind himself. He bites his lip and his eyelids flutter for a moment before a look of pleasure crosses his face. His mouth hangs open as he rolls his hips and fucks himself on his fingers. 

Hanzo watches with burning desire in his core, grabbing himself in his hand. Jesse responds to that with a groan, his hips jerk forward. He then withdraws his fingers, grabs the toy from the bed before coating it in the oil. He screws the cap of the bottle and drops it to the bed and with a wink, he lines the toy at his entrance. 

Biting his lip, Hanzo can see the toy disappear from view between Jesse’s legs, before reappearing. Jesse’s cock bounces with each penetration of the toy, precome beads at his slit and drips to the bed, forming a dark puddle on the red blanket. Jesse’s breathing turns laboured before he finally takes himself in his hand, pulling to match his slow penetrations. 

Not content with watching Jesse have all the fun, Hanzo grabs the bottle of oil on the bed and opens it, applying the same amount Jesse did to the toy to his cock. He fastens the cap and places it back on the table before spreading it down his length and pumping, feeling how slippery and delectable this substance is. 

He watches Jesse, looking between the look of absolute pleasure on his face, his dripping cock and the toy he is fucking. Hanzo groans, he could come here and now if he wanted, but the will to fuck Jesse is stronger. 

With his clean hand, Hanzo pushes himself to his knees, shuffling to Jesse whose eyes are closed, biting his lip and probably almost ready to come. With is clean hand, Hanzo cups Jesse’s chin and kisses him slow and sensual. He takes Jesse in his slippery hand and swallows down the needy moan. 

“Are you ready?” Hanzo whispers. Jesse only nods, and Hanzo knee walks behind him. Jesse pulls the toy from himself, reaching over to the nightstand and resting it on its base. Hanzo only gapes at the sight, eyes flitting from the patch of hair on his lower back to how open and prepared he is. He places a hand between Jesse’s shoulder blades, pushing him down to his hands and knees. For Jesse’s sake, Hanzo massages his entrance with his cock, a warning that he is there and ready. A moan as acknowledgement and Hanzo pushes in, thankful the toy did not open him enough that he cannot enjoy the tightness, the delectable drag. 

Hips pressed against Jesse, Hanzo leans down and kisses his back before reaching around and taking Jesse in his hand. Jesse moans again, bucking his hips against Hanzo, and Hanzo knows that it would not take much for him to come undone. A good thing, because Hanzo is close too.

Hanzo thrusts slow, pulling Jesse at the same pace. He slides his clean hand up Jesse’s back, tangling in his hair as he increases his speed. For the first time in this entire session, Hanzo moans, pressing his mouth to Jesse’s back. Pleasure builds in his core rapidly, pushing him to the edge of orgasm. His skin prickles, his tattoo glows and the dragons writhe under his skin. 

“Han… Han I’m ready… I’m ‘bout to…” Jesse stutters, slamming his hips back into Hanzo hard. He tightens around Hanzo and that’s all it takes to push Hanzo over the edge, moaning Jesse’s name in a whisper over and over as he presses his forehead to Jesse’s back. 

After what seems like an eternity in one of the longest afterglows he’s experienced, Hanzo feels Jesse chuckle beneath him. 

“You okay up there?”

“Yes,” Hanzo breathes, pressing kisses to Jesse’s back. “Are you okay?”

Jesse hums, and Hanzo can imagine the smile on his lips. “Better ‘n okay. Best damn sex I ever had.”

Hanzo snickers, pressing one more kiss to Jesse’s back before leaning back. “Then you clearly have not had sex in a long time.”

“A damn long time.”

Hanzo smiles. He smiles when he pulls out. He smiles watching his orgasm seep out of Jesse. He smiles when he cleans up, when he cleans up Jesse and when he lies beside him, resting his head on Jesse’s chest.

He thinks about the next time, how he wants to look at Jesse's face when he comes. Then his smile falters; this was more than an itch needing scratching. He is not sated, and if anything, sleeping with Jesse has left him wanting more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I want to thank Magisey again for their help with the piano scene and giving me the pointers to make it better than I imagined.
> 
> Orian or kagema are male and female courtesans respectively.
> 
> If you're interested in hearing what a shamisen and shakuhachi sound like, [they are both here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7s-wXZWT5o) The song played on the shakuhachi, 'Shika-no-tone', is the song Hanzo played in his time with the Komusō monks.
> 
> I also grew up on classical music, so the opportunity to write [Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Tr0otuiQuU) was an absolute pleasure, even though they only played the first few notes of the song.


	13. All Good Things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explicit sex in this chapter - I had intended on one scene, but a second kind of just happened ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“You seem happy.”

Hanzo merely grunts his response, giving an air of arrogance even though internally he feels like he's floating on a cloud.

“You can try all you like to fool me, brother, but I know you, more than you know. Probably more than you know yourself.”

“Please,” Hanzo scoffs, placing the teapot and two mugs on the table and sliding into his chair. “The most I saw of you in the last three years was when you wanted to complain that Father was being controlling and unfair. You hardly know me anymore.”

Genji leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. He holds out his hand, extending a finger as he says, “You are smiling. You are laughing. You are not sneaking around because I can hear your footsteps. I have lost count of the amount of times I have heard you enter or leave Jesse's chambers.” Hanzo opens his mouth to object when Genji holds out his other hand. Hanzo huffs, folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his seat. “I am not mocking you. Love suits you, brother.” 

Hanzo sighs, covering his face with his hands. “I should not be in love with him… But I am.”

“You have fallen hard and fast.” There is a pause; Hanzo can hear the sound of tea being poured into the mugs. “And to be honest, I am surprised. He is different to the people you usually lie with.”

“Courtesans and actors,” Hanzo spits out. “We pay them for the privilege of lying with us.”

“Well, technically the money is not coming out of  _ your _ pocket. They provide a service to the clan: entertainment. And that entertainment extends to sex too.”

“I know  _ how _ they work, Genji,” Hanzo grounds, picking up his mug from the table. He stares at the tea, watching as the light reflects off its surface. “It does not mean that I feel any better about it,” he mumbles.

“Brother.” Genji pauses again and Hanzo looks at him. He offers a small smile as he says, “Father has you working all day, every day. You hardly rest. You hardly have the time to breathe, let alone eat and meditate. If a quick fuck keeps you going, keeps your sanity, then you should not feel guilty about it. Regardless of your current marital situation.”

“Jesse is more than a quick fuck though,” Hanzo sighs, taking a sip of tea. “It was what I wanted, to sleep with him once with the intention of being rid of these feelings I cannot have for the man.” Hanzo huffs, fighting to contain the smile that threatens to spill from his lips but finds he is unable. “He is addictive, Genji. His taste, his smell, his touch, what he feels like when I am inside him… and the more I want to stop, not wanting to be more invested in him than I already am, the more I do not want to.”

“Well thanks for that mental image,” Genji mutters, taking a sip of tea. He perks up, adding, “And the world has not ended!”

Hanzo just rolls his eyes and huffs. True, while the world has in fact not crumbled and life is still in fact existing, Hanzo cannot shake the feeling that what he is doing is forbidden, that he is breaking the rules laid before him in his carefully scripted life; that there will be consequences. 

Taking a sip of tea, Hanzo cannot help but feel a smile teasing his lips. He might be breaking the rules, but he does not feel bad about it. He will do as Genji suggested: it will be his secret. No one has to know; not Sakuno, not the elders.

“Brother,” Genji says softly. Hanzo meets his eyes. “We have little more than a week with him. There is not a lot to do on this boat, so I suggest you take advantage of our current predicament and lie with him as much as your heart desires. Get it out of your system while you have the chance, and hopefully you can say goodbye to him when we land.”

A pang of anxiety stabs Hanzo right in his gut. How will he be able to say goodbye to the man he is in love with? How will he be able to return to a life he both wants and does not want?

“Do you think Ikuko was telling the truth about the rest of the elders?” Genji asks quietly.

Hanzo inhales slowly, and exhales just as slowly. “I do not think so,” he answers. “I talked with Nagatsune the day before I left, they did not indicate there was a conspiracy at play, that they were colluding behind our backs.” Hanzo offers a small smile, the only silver lining in this situation as he adds, “And they would talk to me about everything. Having said that, I do not trust them. If one of them had made a deal with the Reaper, there is no knowing how far the rest of them would go.”

“I honestly think we should kill them all.”

Hanzo chuckles, “I was thinking the same thing.” He takes a sip of tea. ”However absent them, the dragon lineage dies with us. At least absent a single member, they can find someone to replace them.”

Genji hums and nods. “I will be keeping a very close eye on them.”

“You, me, I am sure Father will be also.”

“You should get close to them again,” Genji smirks. “Be a spy.”

Hanzo nods. “That could work. We should speak with Father about this. I am sure he will be pleased that you are working in the clan’s best interests again.”

“I will still be keeping one foot out of the door. I am not about to give up  _ all _ of my freedom,” he mutters.

Hanzo silently chuckles to himself. Of course, Genji is not about to give up his freedom. Of course, Genji gets to live a life he wants. He looks at his brother and is completely envious that if he wished, he could stay on the boat with Jesse. How Hanzo would kill to swap positions with his brother. 

He sighs heavily, taking a sip of tea. He perks up the instant he hears the familiar creak of Jesse's workshop door. Given how long it draws out, and knowing his workshop door was open when he entered the kitchen, Hanzo knows he is closing the door slowly; perhaps a means not to interrupt. When Hanzo does not hear his footsteps, he knows Jesse is just standing in the corridor. 

When the silence drags on for a few moments, Hanzo rolls his eyes and smirks, calling out over his shoulder, “We are done talking.”

There is a brief pause, then footsteps approaching. “Sorry,” Jesse says, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Didn't mean to kill the conversation. I  _ really _ need to oil that damned door.”

“The conversation was over,” Hanzo says, looking at Genji.

“Even then,” Genji says, standing up and grabbing the third mug from the bench, “this is your boat. Do not hide because we are talking.”

“It seemed intense.”

“It had its moments,” Genji says with a smirk to Hanzo. He fills the third mug with the remaining tea. “But it is not like you would have been intruding. I assume you can still only speak minimal Japanese?”

“I’m gettin’ better,” Jesse says, taking the mug from Genji when he offers it to him. “Said my whole speech in Japanese and everythin’.”

“Oh, very good. I assume it all went well?”

“Better than I thought,” Jesse says, winking to Hanzo. 

Hanzo watches as Genji looks between him and Jesse, confusion on his face. “Wait,” Genji says slowly, finally settling on Hanzo, “were you there?”

“I observed from a distance.”

“Says he didn’t even pay attention to it,” Jesse says smugly, leaning against the bench and crossing his legs at the ankles. 

“ _ Anija! _ ” Genji scolds. He opens his mouth to berate further but Hanzo gets in first.

“I listened to his speech in the morning—” He stops, looking at Jesse. He can feel the heat rise to his cheeks; Hanzo had not told him that he watched for a long while before surprising him. 

“And?” Jesse asks, grinning.

Hanzo breathes a sigh of relief. “Your Japanese is impressive.

“Thank you,” Jesse says, bowing. “So,” he takes a sip of tea, “how long were you watchin’ for, then?” Hanzo groans, covering his face with his hand. “I don’t know if Hanzo told you, but he jumped me, gave me the fright of my life.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Did he tell you I was in nothin’ but a towel?”

“ _Anija!_ _It’s no wonder you find him hot!_ ”

“Genji!” Hanzo scolds. He sideways glances to Jesse as he says, “It is rude to speak in Japanese when we have company.”

“Fine,” Genji grins, “it is no wonder you find him hot.”

Hanzo closes his eyes and rests his head on folded arms on the table. He did not know what he expected when he scolded Genji, and not one part of him is surprised by what he said. It does not make it any less embarrassing, however. “I hate you,” he grumbles.

“Lie,” Genji laughs. A pause, then, “No, he did not tell me you were in nothing but a towel.”

“I was also thankin’ my lucky stars that I  _ did  _ wear a towel that morning. Normally I don’t bother.”

Hanzo groans again, and does his best to drown out Genji’s laughter. Though now his mind supplies him with the moments he watched Jesse shave, and imagines him naked, with that tight round ass on display for the world to see. He feels the dragons writhe under his skin, and there is nothing that can be done with the arousal that follows. 

Taking Genji’s advice, partly because since he is aroused he might as well take advantage of that, but mostly to give Genji a show for being a nuisance, he stands up and approaches Jesse, practically straddles him in an effort to get close, grabs handfuls of his shirt and pulls him down into a kiss. He rolls his hips for good measure, letting Jesse know that he is hard, and smiles against Jesse’s lips when he moans. 

Taking Jesse’s hand, Hanzo leads him out of the kitchen and glances over his shoulder to smirk at a very unimpressed Genji who rolls his eyes and slowly shakes his head. Hanzo leads Jesse to his chambers, closing the door behind him. 

“Doesn’t take much to get you goin’, does it?”

“I have limited time with you, and I intend on taking full advantage of that.”

Jesse hums, placing his hands on Hanzo's hips and walking him up to the door. Hanzo lands with a soft thud, looking up at Jesse as he slides a hand up his chest to curl around his neck, pulling him down in a soft kiss. Jesse slides his leg between Hanzo's, pressing his thigh to Hanzo's groin. 

Hanzo gasps at the sudden pressure, tangling his fingers in Jesse's hair. The kiss intensifies as Jesse unties the straps from Hanzo’s hakama blindly and one-handed; a skill he is now a master of for all the times he has untied it in their short time together. He pulls his leg away and the garment drops to the floor; Hanzo instantly aches for his touch and moans when his thigh returns.

Jesse's metal hand settles on the back of Hanzo's leg as he slides his flesh hand to Hanzo's back. He finds the straps for his obi and quickly unties that, pulling away from him to wink and fall to his knees.

Hanzo looks down, a ragged breath passes his lips as his erection grazes Jesse’s cheek. If the subtle eyebrow wiggle and smirk Jesse gives as response, that  _ had _ to be intentional. Jesse makes no means to pay it any attention, however, humming as he slips his hands inside the kimono, opening it and pushing it aside. Jesse presses soft kisses to the hair just below Hanzo’s navel, yet all Hanzo can stare at is how his cock rests in the crook of Jesse’s neck.

Jesse looks up at Hanzo, resting his chin just below his navel as he smirks. “How about we take things slow?”

Hanzo only nods, swallowing thickly as he runs his fingers through Jesse’s hair. He has been desperate to feel Jesse’s lips around his cock ever since Jesse teased him about it a few days ago. And to say Hanzo has done his fair share of work to earn this, as Jesse requested, is putting it mildly. 

“I've spent days wondering what you taste like,” Jesse breathes, taking Hanzo in his hand. “If you taste as good as you smell,” Jesse leans in, pressing soft kisses to Hanzo's shaft, all the way to his base and then right up to the tip; making no means to hide his loud inhale through his nose. Jesse pulls back the foreskin, his cock throbs in his hand as a bead of precome pools at his slit. Jesse licks his lips as he looks up at Hanzo adding, “I'm surprised it's taken you this long to accost me.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to speak but his voice dies in his throat, feeling the warm wet of Jesse's mouth. He rolls his head back, hitting the door softly as he grabs a handful of Jesse's hair in his fist. Lavishing in the velvety soft feel of his tongue, the suction from his sucking, Hanzo slides his eyes closed and gently encourages him to go further.

Hanzo opens his eyes when he feels Jesse come off him, his mouth replaced with his hand. 

“So uh…” Jesse starts, nuzzling in closer and burying his nose in Hanzo’s pubic hair. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask for a while, but what’s with the tingling?”

Hanzo’s brain is a scrambled mess, the only thing he can think to ask is, “Tingling?”

“Yeah, prickling or whatever.” Jesse slides his metal hand up Hanzo’s thigh to Hanzo's hand, linking their fingers. “I can feel it on your fingertips,” he looks up at Hanzo, “on your lips when we kiss,” he maintains eye contact as he kisses and sucks on the tip of Hanzo’s cock. “Here, now.”

That certainly is peculiar, given no one he had slept with previously mentioned anything like this. Unsure whether the people he had slept with were just too afraid to speak, or whether it is because he can honestly say he has never been in love with anyone before, he asks, “I trust it is not painful?”

“Naw, just a tingling.” He presses more kisses to Hanzo's shaft. “It got to do with your dragons?”

Hanzo nods and hums, turning into a moan when Jesse takes him in his mouth again. “Yes,” he strangles out, watching as Jesse slides up and down his cock. “They react to my emotions; anger and arousal prominently. Though I was not aware my arousal reacted externally.”

“Can you feel 'em?” Jesse asks, licking Hanzo from base to tip. He takes Hanzo in his hand, pumping slowly.

Hanzo nods. “They get restless when I am aroused. They do not still until I either come or the arousal subsides.”

“That's gotta be annoying sometimes.”

“I have learned to live with it,” Hanzo says quickly, voice almost breathy. He tightens his grip on Jesse's hair when he sweeps his tongue over his slit, and he moans when Jesse encircles the head. “Jesse, do not stop,” he pleads, eyes fluttering closed and moaning again. White hot heat strikes like lightning throughout his body, he tightens his grip on Jesse's prosthetic as his back arches. “Jesse, I am ready, I am ---” Hanzo's voice catches in his throat as he comes. He keeps Jesse's head in place, every tense muscle relaxing after a moment as he loosens the grip on Jesse's hair and presses his back flat against the door. Cracking an eye, Hanzo looks at Jesse; his eyes closed as he swallows the load. He comes off Hanzo's cock with a wink, pulling away with a smile.

"How was that?"

Hanzo says nothing. Merely looks at Jesse with burning desire, pulls him to standing and walks him to the bed. Jesse sits on the bed and Hanzo climbs into his lap, cupping his face between both hands and kissing him hard. Sliding a hand onto his chest, Hanzo pushes Jesse flat to the bed. He hooks one hand under Jesse’s shoulder, the other bracing the bed as he rolls them over, looking up at Jesse as Jesse sits up, cupping Hanzo's pectorals. Hanzo slides his hands up Jesse's thighs to his groin, palming him through his work clothes. Why the buttons on this one-piece are up near his shoulders is perplexing  _ and _ annoying. He huffs, looking at Jesse. "Undress. I want you to come on me."

Jesse groans, and Hanzo loves those little noises he  _ makes _ Jesse make. "You're goin' to be the death of me, darlin'," Jesse drawls. He gives Hanzo's pectorals one more squeeze before he pulls his hands away reluctantly, unclasping the straps. Climbing off Hanzo, he steps on the ground and slides the garment down. Hanzo divides his attention between fumbling through the drawer of the nightstand for the lubrication, applying it to his erection and watching Jesse undress; a haphazard and rushed mess as he practically stumbles over himself in his haste.

Jesse takes himself in his hand, the head of his cock glistening in precome. On his upstroke, more beads from his slit and drips, falling onto the bed. Hanzo bites his lip as Jesse climbs back onto the bed, straddling him as his knees rest on either side of his waist. Jesse takes the bottle of lubrication from Hanzo’s hand and applies some to his fingers, and with a wink reaches around and fingers himself. 

Hanzo rakes his fingers up and down Jesse’s thighs. Jesse’s cock sits heavy on Hanzo’s chest underneath a small pool of precome; glistening in the low light. He takes it in his slippery hand; rock hard and can practically feel it throb. Jesse places a steadying hand on Hanzo’s chest and rocks his hips; fucking his fingers and Hanzo’s fist, moaning between laboured breaths. 

Hanzo watches eagerly as Jesse pleasures himself, he can feel his own neglected cock throb and twitch, desperate for more friction than he gets as Jesse’s barely grazes it with each rock. He does not let his impatience get the better of him though; every other time they have sex Hanzo was in control, fucking Jesse hard and fast. Not that Jesse doesn’t want it that way, he practically begs for it. Today though, right now, he wants Jesse to fuck him.

When Jesse’s hips jerk, Hanzo looks up at him. Jesse smirks back and exhales slowly, then Hanzo can feel Jesse’s hand wrap around his cock; twitching in his hand. Hanzo cannot help but moan when he feels the head of his cock graze his entrance as Jesse massages it. He digs his fingers into the meat of Jesse’s thigh when he feels the pressure as Jesse sinks down slowly on his cock. 

Hanzo moans, savouring that delectable drag, that tightness that he has come to love. Once sitting in his lap, Jesse does not move; he merely looks at Hanzo with a silly grin. Hanzo smiles when Jesse slides his prosthetic from his pectoral to his face, sweeping his hair aside before cupping his face.

“Anyone tell you you’re beautiful?” he asks, voice a near whisper.

“You,” Hanzo smiles, “Just now and when I asked for your book recommendation.”  

Jesse closes his eyes, sweeps down and buries his head in the crook of Hanzo’s neck. “You heard that?”

Hanzo slides his hands onto Jesse’s back, holding him tight. “I did.” He pauses and smiles before adding, “Has anyone told you that you are beautiful when you are embarrassed?”

Jesse leans back, running his metal hand through Hanzo’s hair. “I don’t get very embarrassed usually. I tend to have no shame.”

“So what is different about me?”

“I… kind of like you. A lot.”

Hanzo chuckles, sliding his hand to the back of Jesse’s neck and pulling him back down into a soft kiss. He closes his eyes in an effort not to let the tears spill, and the kiss deepens. The barest moan passes his lips when Jesse rolls his hips, moving slowly, shallowly. Hanzo slides his hands down Jesse’s shoulders, down his waist to settle on his hips; not in an effort to control him, no, he will be happy going at Jesse’s pace. 

The kiss finally recedes, the both of them breathe in deep. Jesse rests his forehead on Hanzo’s, one arm curls around his shoulders and the other grips the bedhead, if the creaking of the wood is any indication. 

“Fuck, Hanzo, I’m so close…” Jesse breathes, voice low and husky. Hanzo slides one hand down, taking Jesse in his fist again as he rolls his hips and meets him with every thrust. “Shit, fuck, Hanzo, I’m there, I’m there, I’m…” he trails off, quivering and tightening around Hanzo. Hanzo moans, his back arching, so close to another orgasm and the moment he feels the warm spurt on his chest, Hanzo comes, silently whispering expletives in Japanese.      

Another kiss, soft and slow before Jesse pulls back, looking at the white streaking his chest. Jesse chuckles, pressing a kiss to Hanzo's forehead before sitting up. He slides his hands up and down Hanzo's sides, the fingertips on his flesh hand are rough and calloused, no doubt from his countless hours of metalworking, and a stark contrast to the fingertips on his prosthetic which are smooth.

Hanzo realises at that moment that he will miss that touch, the tingle he leaves in his wake, and he is nowhere near ready for this to end. How can he go back to a life of plotting and scheming, looking over his shoulder knowing the elders had some hand in Genji's kidnapping, listening to their manipulative words and being forced into a marriage with a person he does not know, knowing he will  _ never  _ have the same feelings for her that he has for Jesse?

He sighs, pushing those thoughts aside and looking at Jesse. Genji was right about one thing: Jesse would not be in his arms forever, and he might as well take full advantage of what little time remains.

* * *

They say time flies when you’re having fun.

Every day over the course of their twelve-day journey from America to Japan, there was always ‘one more day’.  _ I don’t have to think about it _ , Jesse would tell himself,  _ because there would be one more day.  _

And now, there are no more days. This is the last day. 

They also say all good things come to an end. 

A reminder—a sober reminder—that nothing lasts forever. That everything is temporary. That you should enjoy the good things while you have them before they inevitably end.  

After almost a month with the man he has practically been joined to the hip with, after everything they have gone through, how can he say goodbye? Jesse tried, fought so damn hard not to give in and develop feelings for Hanzo. He told himself that this was just sex, that it was physical attraction, that Hanzo is not the first handsome man he's had in his bed and most certainly won't be the last.

Back before sex was on the table or even a possibility, all the way back on that first night when Hanzo laughed when Jesse spilled coffee on himself, he thought this would be an easy sail. A quick way to make some money. He was going back to the States anyway, and even though he had an attractive man on board, it was easy to remember that he had the personality of a rock—of someone so incredibly rude and hurtful and arrogant and so damn cocksure of himself that... of fucking course Jesse was going to fall for that.

The bare chest didn’t help. Making the bow case for him didn’t help. The kiss most certainly did not help. The kiss, that first hint of what was going to come just over a week later… 

Jesse chuckles, running his fingers through Hanzo’s hair. Their little romance might have happened quickly, but that doesn’t mean that these feelings aren’t real, that they’re not any less real than feelings slowly growing, cultivating over a period of months. This circumstance is a special circumstance—how many folks can say they ain’t developed feelings for someone they’ve been sharing a living space with for a month? Eating at the same time, sleeping at the same time. It was only inevitable that their friendship was going to grow into something more. 

And the last fortnight on the boat has been the happiest Jesse can say he’s ever been. Literally the only time Hanzo has been absent from his arms was when they would use the bathroom and bathe. Every other time, in the kitchen sharing a meal, in the recreation room sharing a drink or playing the piano, they were within arms reach. It disgusted Genji, it confused Bastion. In the privacy of Jesse’s room, there was nothing between them. Skin on skin, together as one.

Yes, time does fly when you’re having fun. And a consequence of that is it eventually ends.

Jesse zones back into reality, looking at the ends Hanzo’s black locks floating on the surface of the water, dancing around with every minute movement like ink. He definitely has the longest hair of someone Jesse has been with, and he could barely contain his excitement when Hanzo let him play with it and wash it, as hard as it was one-handed. 

He smiles; while he has had many people in his bed, this is the first time he has been  _ this  _ intimate with someone: Hanzo is the first he has let into his bath. The two of them fit nice and snug, and honestly with Hanzo absent his limbs, it is cosy. It is warm, and it is the perfect way to end their little romance. 

Splitting Hanzo’s hair into three separate segments, he begins to braid it loosely, slipping one portion under the other, pushing it aside with a finger; all done with his right hand. He looks at his prosthetic sitting on the sink, then at Hanzo’s on the floor beside the bath. He has been meaning to ask about how he lost them, and honestly was afraid of two things: the first, Hanzo’s potential anger, about being seen as weak and half a man. The second, a discussion on how he lost his arm. He knows Hanzo enough that he wouldn’t let it slide, that there was no way he could out-charm him and distract him with something else, like he had been able to with everyone else who’s asked.

Hanzo is smarter than that. More stubborn, too.

But that was all before Jesse had taken his prosthetic off in front of someone—another first that Hanzo was privy to.

And now, he doesn’t fear Hanzo’s wrath, his anger. 

Content with his decent looking braid, Jesse leans forward, kissing Hanzo’s shoulder and resting his chin on it. “So I’ve got a question, and it’s something I’ve been wantin’ to ask this for a while now. Years… you could say.”

“My legs?”

Jesse hums. “How’d you lose them?”

Hanzo shifts, tilting his head to the side as he looks at his prosthetics. “I was sent into Nagoya to assassinate the leader of a rival clan. I had Genji by my side; the first time we were partnered together on a mission, given how dangerous it was. Me, being young and arrogant, could not allow Genji that kill. It was my kill, and mine alone. I was reckless, and I underestimated the clan leader’s power.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I have learned from my mistakes,” Hanzo says quietly. He leans back, resting his head on Jesse’s chest. “I thought myself invincible. I had been previously injured, of course,” Jesse nods, noting the dozens of faded scars on Hanzo’s back, his thighs, “but it was never lethal. Until that day.” Hanzo shifts in the bath, perhaps uncomfortably, either way, Jesse slides his arm under Hanzo’s, wrapping it around his chest and keeping him close. He kisses Hanzo’s head. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Jesse whispers, kissing Hanzo’s head again.

“I thought myself the most skilled with a katana. More than Genji, more than the clan leader. I charged in there and he bested me.” Hanzo pauses, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “As much as I wanted to blame Genji, that I would not have been so foolish if he were not there… If he was not there, I would have died. I would have bled out, slowly and painfully, and without honour because the clan leader himself was without honour, refused to let me die an honourable death because I was the son of Shimada Sojiro; heir to the Shimada clan.” 

Jesse holds Hanzo close, hearing the spite, the vitriol in his tone. “So Genji saved you?”

“He did,” Hanzo whispers. He pauses, and Jesse kisses his head again. “I begged him for death, but he insisted that it would take more than a few slashes to my legs for death to take me. But I could not feel my legs below the knee. I could not wiggle my toes. I knew I was going to lose them, but Genji held out hope that they could be saved.” 

There is a long pause; Hanzo stays quiet and Jesse tries to piece together the events in his mind. He knew Genji left the family, went off on his own three and a half years ago... “Was that the reason why Genji left the clan, went on his own?”

Hanzo nods, subtle and slow like he was only half listening. Jesse is curious about Genji leaving, the implications, but he won’t press on, not when Hanzo is this uncomfortable. He takes another look at his prosthetic, his stomach flutters at the thought of telling someone what he has told no one.

“Mine was an accident.”

Hanzo turns his head to face him. Jesse looks down at him and smiles. “Was workin’ with the aether. Pa had suspected it could be volatile, an alternative to black powder. In its natural state, it’s harmless. Add just a little bit of acetic acid, and yeah, the shit’ll blow up in your hand.”

“Jesse, I am sorry.”

“It’s what I get for bein’ reckless. We’d tried most of everything… water, soap, hell even the more corrosive sulfuric acid, but vinegar… Didn’t give it a second thought.” Even to this day, Jesse curses himself for being so reckless, so ignorant of the consequences after working with it for so long. And even after all these years, he can feel the phantom pains, remembering with absolute clarity the feeling of the small shards of aether being pulled from his flesh, and how he suspects some of it remains. He endured all of that, but he knows he would not be here if not for that single defining point in his life. “Lucky for me I was in Switzerland, and close to the hospital where a renowned expert in artificial limbs was working. Dr. Angela Ziegler,” Jesse chuckles, “she saved my life.”

Hanzo leans over, grabbing his glass of brandy from the floor and prompting Jesse to do the same when he holds up his glass. “To our heroes.” Jesse clinks his glass with Hanzo’s and takes a sip. He places his glass down and rubs his face. “If I’m goin’ to be meeting your pa today, I know I have to shave.”

Hanzo sets his glass down and turns in the bath, facing Jesse. “You should keep it.”

“You keep sayin’ that. I look homeless  _ and  _ unrecognisable.”

Hanzo scoffs, gesturing to the boat with his hand. “You are one of the most famous people in the world. A bit of facial hair is not going to stop people from knowing who you are.”

Jesse smirks, exaggeratingly rolling his eyes. “Fine.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers through Hanzo’s goatee. “How about I do this. It’s a hot look.”

Hanzo quirks an eyebrow, separating from Jesse to push himself out of the bath. Jesse watches on in awe, the sheer strength this man has to lift himself out of the bath absent his legs, and with that, Jesse loses his train of thought, instead watching the water drip from his hair, running in rivulets down his back and over the curve of his ass. He licks his lips, looking at how taut his muscles are as he reaches for the sink. Jesse can feel himself swelling, and just as quickly as Hanzo is out of the water, he is right back in, in his hands the metal bowl containing Jesse’s shaving soap, brush and straight razor. Hanzo looks at the items before looking at Jesse. “May I shave you?”

Jesse looks at Hanzo in somewhat disbelief. He nods, wanting to actually say the word but can’t will himself to speak. Never has anyone doted over him like Hanzo. No one’s asked him to do these small, everyday things like pick out his clothes, clean him up after sex, offer to make tea and coffee and dinner. Never has be been with  _ anyone  _ like Hanzo, and Jesse knows for absolute certainty that it is going to be almost impossible to say goodbye to him. That, and the sex. God, the little tingles takes sex to another level. How will he ever be able to have sex without feeling that warm tingling all over his body?

Shaking that thought away before he ends up with an erection he cannot do away with, he snaps back to reality and Hanzo is ready with the shaving soap. He places a hand under Jesse’s chin and applies the soap to his cheeks, and the look of concentration on his face, his brows pinched together, the slight upwards quirk of his lip, is adorable.

When Hanzo pulls away, he looks at Jesse with a suspicious eye. “What?”

“You’re adorable.”

Hanzo scoffs, brushing the shaving soap on Jesse’s nose. Jesse chuckles, crossing his eyes and looking at the white cream on the tip of his nose before bringing a hand up to his face. He hesitates for a moment, wishing that he could have these silly domestic moments every day. Sighing, ignoring the sadness tugging at his heart and instead focusing on Hanzo right in front of him, he wipes his nose and places his hand in the water. Hanzo fills the bowl with hot water and sets that aside before placing a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse gets the hint, placing his hand on the small of Hanzo’s back and pulling him up into his lap. He keeps his hand at the base of Hanzo’s spine, rubbing his back with his thumb as Hanzo picks up the straight razor and brings it to Jesse’s face. With that same look of concentration, places a hand under Jesse’s chin and tilts his head to the side before he makes the first stroke, downwards from Jesse’s cheek to his jawline. 

“I had suspected that the Reaper had been the one who took your arm,” he says, rinsing the blade in the bowl of hot water.

“Would’ve made for a more interesting story,” Jesse chuckles. “Naw, I met him after I lost my arm.”

“Then what were you referring to when you said that he did more damage to you than you him?”

“He drove me from my home,” Jesse breathes, pausing as Hanzo brings the razor to his face, shaving downwards. “Also choked me to barely an inch of my life. I can’t stand it when people touch my neck.”

“Jesse I…” Hanzo trails off, pulling back. His eyes practically well with tears. “I am sorry, I did not know.”

“Hmm? Didn’t know what?” Jesse asks frowning.

“On the first day, I...”

Jesse thinks back to the first day, getting jumped by an angry Hanzo, then… he chuckles. “Oh, yeah, you kind of held me in a choke hold, didn’t you?” He asks rhetorically, even though Hanzo nods. “It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it, to be honest. I was stuck trying to process that dragons are real, Genji was missing and being jumped by you, all without my morning coffee.”

“Well I am still sorry,” Hanzo says, small smile creeping on his lips.

“Ain’t nothin’, sweetness,” Jesse whispers, sliding his hand up to the back of Hanzo’s neck, pulling him in to kiss his forehead. 

Hanzo readjusts in his lap, places his hand under Jesse’s chin and turns his head to the other side. He shaves that cheek in two strokes, the only sound filling the space is the sound of water gently sloshing around. 

Jesse’s heart aches, words cannot describe how much he wants this every day. The more he scolds himself for not ruining their last moments together by thinking about how lonely he’ll feel once this is over, the more he can’t help  _ but _ feel sorry for himself. 

Hanzo hums, drawing Jesse from his thoughts once again. He sets the razor down beside the bowl and picks up the shaving brush. “Would you like to do your neck?” 

Jesse shakes his head and Hanzo applies the soap to Jesse’s neck. Focusing on his breathing as the brush glides against his skin, he reminds himself that Hanzo is not going to hurt him, and this is something he does himself every second day, that there is no difference in the sensation. He watches as Hanzo sets the brush back down and picks up the blade, hesitating as his eyes meeting Jesse’s. He doesn’t say anything, but Jesse knows what he’s thinking.

“It’s fine Hanzo, I trust you.” 

Hanzo nods, applies pressure to Jesse’s chin and pushes his head upwards. He holds his breath as Hanzo makes the downwards motion, from Jesse’s jawline, under his chin and down his neck. When Hanzo pulls away to rinse the blade, Jesse exhales. It was only a month ago the very same blade was used as a means to threaten him by those very hands which are very gingerly shaving him. 

In an effort to stop from thinking about the blade kissing his neck being held by hands that aren’t his own, Jesse instead thinks of those last moments in the saloon. He had not seen the Reaper before they left, and a pit of dread opens in his stomach at the thought of him still being alive. He then thinks about the Japanese woman, what she said to Hanzo, the anger on her tone. How she was kneeling by the door before the dragons passed through, and was gone after.

“So who was the woman with the Reaper?” Jesse asks when Hanzo rinses the blade. “Seemed like she had some interesting final words.” When Hanzo’s movements falter, just for the barest of moments—if Jesse had been blinking he would have missed it, Jesse adds, “Don’t have to tell me. It’s fine.”

Hanzo leans back slightly and inhales and exhales slowly. He looks at the blade in his hand, frown teasing his features before his eyes snap up to meet Jesse’s. “You said that there were things in this world you did not expect. That woman, she looked only thirty-five, but she was, in fact, four centuries old.”

“You’re kidding,” Jesse scoffs.

Hanzo shakes his head. “They have been in the clan for generations. Dragon priests, granted a life immortal. They do not look like her, though.”

Jesse narrows his eyes. “What do you mean? What do they look like?”

Hanzo brings the razor to Jesse’s neck, shaving downwards. “They look like what you would expect someone who is four hundred years old to look.”

Staying as still as he possibly can until Hanzo finishes, the second he pulls away Jesse looks at Hanzo, square on. Jesse properly analyses him, looking for any tell that could tip him off, a tell that this is a joke like the little lip curl, the raise of his left eyebrow, but Hanzo looks back, as stoic as a statue. “You’re serious?”

“Genji and I carry spirit dragons within us. We fought against a man who can dissipate into smoke. Yet you draw the line at immortality?” 

Jesse smirks. “I guess it’s not outside the realms of possibility. So what did she say?” 

Hanzo tilts Jesse’s head upwards again. “That she delivered me into this world. Raised me. Taught me how to use a katana.” The blade presses against his chin and runs down his neck in a slow, smooth motion. Jesse holds still as he feels the blade press against his Adam’s apple and it takes all of his willpower not to swallow. “That she was present for every step of my life and that I cannot turn my back on her.” 

Jesse exhales slowly when Hanzo pulls away, swallowing before he asks, “And what did you say?” 

“I simply told her she turned her back on the clan, and a quick death is more than she deserves.”

“Shit,” Jesse smirks. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow and tilts Jesse’s head upwards again. 

“So,” Jesse starts, waiting for Hanzo to either shave his neck or wait. When it’s apparent he waits, Jesse asks, “Any chance I’ll meet these elders?”

“No,” Hanzo breathes, making the downwards motion. “They do not reveal themselves when we have visitors.”

Jesse nods, dreading his next question but he just  _ needs _ to know. He waits until Hanzo has made the next cut and is rinsing the blade before asking, “Is your fiancé going to be there?”

Hanzo’s eyes meet Jesse’s and he stares for a long moment. “It is unlikely,” he says quietly. “Since we are not yet married, she has no need to be part of official clan business.”

Jesse nods and internally breathes a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to meet her. “When are you gettin’ married?”

“It has been scheduled to happen at the conclusion of summer.”

“That ain’t long,” Jesse breathes. Hanzo shakes his head. He rinses the blade and makes the final cut before setting it aside. He grabs a washcloth from the shelf sitting beside the bath and rinses it under hot water before wringing it out and handing it to Jesse. He looks at it, then at Hanzo. “If you don’t mind… tell me about her.” Jesse waits for Hanzo’s confirmation before placing the towel on his face.

“She is quiet. Does not speak unless spoken to. She is afraid of voicing an opinion, even when I told her that she need not fear me.” Hanzo pauses, huffing. An obvious attempt to keep his displeasure in check. “She is delicate, like sakura blossoms.” He looks at Jesse and Jesse pulls the towel away. He notices the heave of his chest, his deep breaths and then the tears in his eyes. “I do not want her. I do not want someone who is afraid of speaking to me.” He blinks rapidly, and just as fast wraps his arms around Jesse’s neck. 

Hanzo doesn't say anything. He doesn't say what Jesse is expecting him to say, what Jesse wants to hear. He sobs, though. Jesse never ever thought that he would see the strong, proud Shimada Hanzo so vulnerable. 

Jesse slides his hand up to the back of Hanzo's neck, strokes his hairline with his thumb. He gives Hanzo all the time he needs. There is no rush to be anywhere right this second, and if there was, then they be damned.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against Hanzo's, listening to his deep breaths, feeling the push of his chest against his own with each one.

In his mind, he allows himself the thought he wants to say to Hanzo, but knows he can't.

_ I want you too. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“If I’m goin’ to be meeting your pa today, I know I have to shave,” Jesse says, feeling the coarse hair of his beard under his fingertips._
> 
> _Hanzo sets his glass down and turns in the bath, facing Jesse. “You should keep it.”_
> 
> _“You keep sayin’ that. I look homeless and unrecognisable.”_
> 
> _Hanzo scoffs, gesturing to the boat with his hand. “You are one of the most famous people in the world. A bit of facial hair is not going to stop people from knowing who you are.”_
> 
> _Jesse smirks, exaggeratingly rolling his eyes. “Fine.” He reaches out and brushes his fingers through Hanzo’s goatee. “How about I do this. It’s a hot look.”_
> 
> _Hanzo quirks an eyebrow, separating from Jesse to push himself out of the bath. Jesse watches on in awe, the sheer strength this man has to lift himself out of the bath absent his legs, and just as quickly as Hanzo is out of the water, he is right back in. In his hands is the metal bowl containing Jesse’s shaving soap, brush and straight razor. Hanzo looks at the items before looking at Jesse. “May I shave you?”_
> 
> [And this, my favourite scene from the entire fic.](http://aredesification.tumblr.com/post/172090797124/p-bronze-blue-story-by-chilliebean5-and) I asked Aredes if she could draw this about a week and a half ago and did it without hesitation. I am beyond grateful and so in love with this piece!


	14. ...Come to an End

Jesse shakes his hands out as he paces up and down the kitchen. 

“Will you sit down? You are going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Huffing, Jesse falls into the seat, slumping and resting his back against the wall. “Genji, I’m about to meet your pa. I have to say goodbye to Hanzo. I’m excited and nervous and dreading all of it.”

“You are going to say goodbye to me too,” Genji mumbles.

“But you can come with me, join me whenever you want. Hanzo…” Jesse trails off, hearing Hanzo’s door open. “He’s stuck…” he adds quietly, leaning over the table.

“And does not want it,” Genji finishes, just as quiet. “I know.”

Jesse stands up the second Hanzo appears in the doorway. He takes a step towards him with the intention of giving him a kiss, feeling the bare skin of his shoulder underneath his fingertips for the final time. But he hesitates and instead tips his hat. “Mr. Shimada, pleasure as always.”

Hanzo bows his head, adjusting his bow case on one shoulder, his bag on the other. 

“I trust you got everything? I’d hate for you to have left anything behind.”

“I have all my belongings, yes.”

“We should be docked at the pier in about thirty minutes, care for a cup of tea while we wait?”

Hanzo opens his mouth to speak, but stops when Genji snorts. Jesse turns to face him and he has a hand over his mouth to suppress his laugh, but can barely hold it together.

“What?” Jesse asks, impatient.

“You’re acting as if Hanzo did not spend the last twelve days in your bed. That you did not spend the morning fucking and sharing a bath, thinking you were all quiet but you were not.” He pauses only for a moment before adding absolutely deadpan, “The walls on your boat are thin, Jesse. Very, very thin. And the two of you are very, very loud.”

Jesse rolls his eyes and ignores Genji’s visible shudder, turning back to Hanzo. “Tea?”

“Please,” he says, shouldering off the case and his bag and resting them against the wall. Jesse grabs a third mug from the cupboard and pours the tea into it before turning back around and offering it to Hanzo. “Thank you.”

Jesse grabs the small stool from the corner of the room and sets it at the table, taking a seat. “So anything I should know before going into your home?”

“Be a perfect gentleman and you shall be fine,” Hanzo answers, looking Jesse up and down as he brings the cup to his mouth.

Jesse winks, picking his mug off the table and takes a gulp. He catches a whiff of Hanzo’s smell, that natural almost waxy musky smell that’s so strong after sex. Unsure whether it is from memory or from the man himself, but either way it has his cock swelling and aching for his touch. He wonders if he could get away with a final quick round of sex. Hell, he’d even take a rushed handjob. But with only half an hour before they dock, and a part of him not wanting their last encounter to be something so desperate, so rushed, he swallows down that need along with the last of his tea.

He stands up and places his mug in the sink, adjusting himself while his back is turned. Thankful that he doesn’t have a full erection and no noticeable bulge in his trousers, he turns back around and claps his hands together. “All right, I’m goin’ to head back above deck, check in with Bas as we come up to the pier.” Both brothers nod at him and Jesse gives Hanzo one last long look before leaving the kitchen and waking down the corridor towards the ladder. Hearing hushed Japanese behind him, a sudden pit of dread opens in his stomach; for the first time in his years travelling with people, he does not want to be alone.

Shaking that feeling off as he steps up on deck, he looks at Bastion and smiles. “Bas, how are we doing?”

_ “Good, Jesse. And you  _ can _ come up and get some fresh air and check in on me, I see.” _

Jesse chuckles, slapping a hand on Bastion’s back. He casts his eyes out to the front of the boat, seeing the fork in the channel they approached a month ago, except this time taking the right path instead of the left—taking them to Hanamura.

“Anyone tell you I made you too smart for your own good?” Jesse asks, turning his attention back to Bastion.

_ “You. All of the time.”  _ Bastion pauses, the low whirr he makes tells Jesse that he does have more to say, so he gives him space.  _ “Will you be okay, Jesse?”  _ he asks eventually.

“‘Course I will be, Bas.” Jesse punches the automaton in the arm lightly as he turns, leaning on the console and crossing his legs at the ankles. “Don’t have to worry about me.”

_ “Someone has to. Genji and I have been talking and we are worried about you.” _

“Shit,” Jesse scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “I must be worse than I think if the two o’ you are worried about me.”

_ “We have been sailing together for four years, and you were sailing long before me. I know that in that time, you have never slept with a guest.” _

“‘Cause they were under my employ,” Jesse says quickly.

_ “Exactly. You never slept with them because you are professional when you want to be.” _

Jesse plucks his hat off his head, resists the urge to tousle his combed back hair and instead runs his hand smoothly over it. “I'm not going to get into an argument with you, Bas. So I slept with him. He wanted it as much as I did. We're two consenting adults and…” he drops his hat back down, “fuck, why am I discussing my sex life with you?” he asks rhetorically, frustration heavy on his tone as he reaches inside his vest pocket, pulling out a freshly cut cigar and placing it in his mouth.

_ “You may think me incapable, but I do care about your wellbeing. I do not need you getting reckless and doing something stupid because your heart is in pieces.” _

Fishing out his tin of matches from his back pocket, Jesse lights the end of the cigar, puffing and closing his eyes when that delectable taste fills his mouth. “Ain't nothing to worry about, Bas,” he says; opening his eyes and watching as smoke puffs out of his mouth with each syllable before he exhales the rest, dissipating on the gentle breeze. “It'll sting for a little while but it'll fade with time.”

_ “Are you in love with him?” _

Jesse hums, taking another puff of his cigar. He can say for certain that he likes Hanzo. Does he love Hanzo? Perhaps. To say he is  _ in love _ with Hanzo… Does never wanting to let him go count? How about the thought of keeping Hanzo’s bedding in his room so he can smell Hanzo whenever he wants? Or the fact that if Hanzo asked him to stay in Japan, he would do it without hesitation, without thought of anything else in his life? Do these things count as being in love with the man? Most likely. 

“Naw,” Jesse says instead. He has to keep these thoughts and feelings to himself if for no other reason than the very act of saying the words aloud would make the feelings become something real; then there’ll be no stopping him from letting Hanzo go. If that failed, he would plead and beg to stay in Japan with him; and both options are honestly unreasonable taking into account Jesse’s line of work and Hanzo’s imminent wedding. Jesse takes another puff from his cigar, exhaling the smoke as he says, “Though I have to say, Bas, if he asked to stay I wouldn’t say no. If he asked me to stay, same thing.”

_ “I had assumed we would be staying in Japan for the foreseeable future as it will take time to establish the aether in their existing locomotives.” _

“Well yeah,” Jesse says, tapping the heel of his boot against the deck absently. In Japan. Not Hanamura. Not within walking distance of Hanzo. “Doesn’t mean I can stop in and say ‘hi’ whenever I want.”

_ “But we will be in close proximity for how long? Six months? A year? More?” _

Jesse closes his eyes and takes a puff from the cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth as long as he can. It's sweet that Bastion is looking out for him, especially considering how cold Bastion was with Hanzo in the beginning. He thinks rationally about the situation. As much as he wants Hanzo, he can’t be his secret lover. Mistresses might be commonplace in Japan, but sleeping with a married man just rubs him the wrong way; even with a married man who doesn't want the marriage. Exhaling as he sighs, Jesse takes the cigar between his knuckles, flicking the ash onto the deck. “Yeah, a while. Gotta hire a workforce, work with local governments, the locomotive industry itself. It’s goin’ to take some time, Bas.”

Bastion makes a low whirr sound, a sign that he is frustrated with the conversation.  _ “Okay,”  _ he says slowly, exasperation carrying on his tone. Jesse knows what Bastion is doing; wanting him to reveal his feelings, talking them out and processing them. Jesse built Bas so he could have someone to problem solve with and it works for everything, but Jesse knows for damn certain that it won’t work for this.

“I can't accept my feelings for him, Bas,” Jesse murmurs, looking at Bastion. “I can't say them aloud, I can't do what you _ want _ me to do. I say it aloud, and it becomes real and I just…” Jesse trails off, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just can't,” he whispers.

_ “You humans are a complicated bunch.” _

“Sure are,” Jesse breathes, looking at the glowing tip of his cigar. “This whole damn situation is complicated.” He takes a final puff of the cigar; he didn't want to smell like smoke, but damn did it hit the spot. He holds it between his fingers, waiting for it to extinguish on its own.

The sail into Hanamura port goes surprising quick. Jesse spends that time at the bow of the boat watching the trees pass them by, the occasional fisherman on the shore who watches on with a disbelieving eye. Jesse tips his hat to every one of them, they don't even respond short of their staring. It seems the good people of Hanamura are more reserved than those in Edo.

Jesse isn't joined by Hanzo and Genji until they've come to a complete stop at the pier. There are no welcoming parties, no one to greet them. He has an unnerving feeling though; like he is being watched even though when he scans around he only sees people going about their day.

He is drawn from his thoughts by a hand on his hip. He turns to see Hanzo looking out into the distance. Jesse follows his gaze, seeing a castle atop a nearby hill. “Your home?”

“Indeed,” Hanzo breathes, turning to face Jesse. He looks him up and down, smiling before casting his eyes back out. “We shall proceed on foot.” He gives a silent, subtle nod before casting his eyes over Jesse once more. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” Jesse admits. ‘Damn fucking nervous’, while accurate, would have been a touch dramatic. Jesse thinks about reaching out and touching him, whether it’s placing a hand on the small of his back, draping his arm over his shoulder, hell even just taking a small sidestep so their arms brush together. He’d do it too, if he wasn’t so damn worried that someone was goin’ to have his head for touching the heir to their clan.

“You need not be,” Hanzo says quietly, “our father admires your work and I am sure is looking forward to meeting you.”

“I still can’t get over the fact that your pa not only knows me, but  _ admires _ me.” Jesse pauses, smiling as he feels the heat creep up to his cheeks, “It’s flattering.”

“You build fully functional prostheses for a living, technology which he deems centuries ahead of its time.” Hanzo looks at Jesse’s hand on the railing, placing his on top as he brings his voice down, “And you saved his eldest son, his heir.”

Jesse can hear the sadness hidden in his tone, and his silly concerns about being watched be damned, he places his hands on Hanzo’s wasit. “I hear his son is mighty grateful, too,” Jesse says, waggling his eyebrows when Hanzo looks at him. “Might’ve even shown that appreciation physically. Many times.”

Hanzo smiles, and it warms Jesse’s insides. Oh, how will he ever be able to say goodbye to him? Hanzo slides his hands up Jesse’s arms, settling on his shoulders. “He thought words were not enough.” He looks up, dark eyes meeting Jesse’s, and there is nothing that can be done when Jesse slides his hand up to the back of Hanzo’s head. “And I heard the famous Jesse McCree liked it.”

“Sure did,” Jesse whispers, leaning in and kissing Hanzo. It’s a quick kiss, far too quick for Jesse’s liking, but he pulls away when he feels Hanzo’s hand on his chest pushing him back. Hanzo doesn’t make eye contact, instead looks at the ground.

“We are likely being watched.”

“I knew I couldn’t shake the feeling. Though honestly, I would have thought you’d be able to get away with anything.”

“I can,” Hanzo whispers, looking up at Jesse. “I do not wish for it to be public knowledge, however.”

Jesse nods, taking a step back when Hanzo’s hands slide off his body. “I can appreciate that. I try to keep all activities confined to indoors lest the gossipers catch wind of something.”

Hanzo only nods then looks past Jesse to above deck. Jesse follows his gaze and sees Genji leaning against the railing, Bastion by his side and a look of utter boredom on his face.

“If the two of you are done, we should be getting home,  _ anija. _ ”

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly, looking at Hanzo and extending his hand towards the ladder. “After you.” He follows behind Hanzo, climbing to the bridge. He approaches Bastion, looking at the console before looking out to the castle. “All right, Bas, I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay put, watch guard, and it might be worth not doin’ anything which could be deemed as provocation.” Jesse made sure not to reattach Bastion’s gun arm, the last thing he wants to be seen as is threatening.

_ “I will man the boat and be my lovable, friendly self.”  _ Bastion then whistles, high in pitch as he holds out his hand, prompting Ganymede to perch on it. 

“Yep, that'll do,” Jesse chuckles. He turns to face Hanzo and Genji as the both of them bow to Bastion. 

“It was good seeing you again, Bas,” Genji says as he stands straight. 

_ “And you, Genji. I wish you well.”  _ He turns to Hanzo, switching to English as he says, “I wish you well also, Shimada-san.” Hearing Bastion’s tinny, English speaking voice still catches Jesse by surprise given how infrequently he uses it.

Hanzo bows his head and Jesse rubs his hands together. “All right, let's meet your pa.” 

Jesse leads the way out of the boat and walks by Hanzo's side all the way up to the castle. Hanamura itself is a lively city, made up of numerous shop fronts and traders, all calling out to general members of the public to buy their wares. Unlike Edo though, while people stop and stare at Jesse, no one makes a fuss. No one stops for a quick conversation. In fact, Jesse's certain he isn't even recognised by the good people of Hanamura; which is equal parts peculiar and sobering. 

Like many of the great castles Jesse's seen in his time, Hanamura Castle is no different. Between the large, wooden imposing gates with the clan symbol etched into it that greet them to the bell tower that stands opposite the entrance, the castle stands proud, overlooking the town below. Countless cherry blossom trees fill the outdoor space, offering a sense of tranquillity from the bustle of the city below.

The one thing that takes him by surprise though is the sheer number of staff on hand. At least half a dozen tending to the gardens, another four spotted in the halls when Jesse takes off his hat and boots, trading them for a pair of slippers, and he could hear the sound of pots and pans clanking, numerous voices carry from the closed doors of the kitchen as they walk past. 

The castle itself is quite minimalist; closed shoji screens in every doorway, minimal artwork on the walls. The castle is certainly large, it feels like they are walking forever until they approach a room, the only one so far with the shoji screen open. Jesse stops walking when he feels Hanzo's hand on his shoulder.

“Wait here,” Hanzo whispers before proceeding in. Genji follows behind, leaving Jesse alone in the corridor. 

The only thing Jesse hears is rushed Japanese coming from the room. The sound of sniffing and laughter from a woman, a stern tone from a man. Genji does most of the speaking, and when Hanzo finally does speak, Jesse can hear the elation in the responses from the man. In his mind, Jesse paints a picture of a family reunited.

Jesse perks up when he hears his name from the man, sounding like a question, which Jesse wonders if it is Hanzo's father asking for him. He takes a moment to smooth over his hair and straighten his waistcoat—it's all the time he has before Hanzo appears from the room. He gives Jesse a quick look down and smiles.

“They would like to meet you.”

Jesse nods and swallows the lump in his throat.  _ Now or never, _ he tells himself as he enters the room, eyes settling on Genji first, then their mother with her arm tightly wrapped around Genji’s waist, looking like she never wants to let him go, then finally on their father. He stands tall, chest puffed out and chin tilted upwards. There is no mistaking that Hanzo and Genji are his sons, they are the very spit of him. He stands in front of Sojiro and bows, holding his hands behind his back as he straightens to resist the urge to tip his hat which isn’t there. 

“Shimada-san, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Sojiro looks Jesse up and down, and takes his time doing so. The seconds drag on until finally he bows, and when he stands up straight, he visibly relaxes. “Mr. McCree, it is an honour. I have a keen interest in your work, and I feel that this meeting has been long overdue.” He looks at Hanzo’s mother and Jesse follows his gaze. 

Clearing his throat, Jesse bows and stands to full height. “Shimada-san.”

She immediately bows, foregoing the same scrutiny offered by Sojiro. Smiling as she stands to full height, Jesse takes the time to analyse her features, and does see that at the very least Hanzo and Genji have her mouth. Not that he doubted that she wasn’t their mother, but if the tales of Sojiro’s promiscuous ways are anything to go by, he couldn’t be too certain. 

“Please, call me Kisano.”

“Yes, you may call me Sojiro.”

Jesse nods and smiles, keeping in mind to hold his hands together as to not rub the back of his neck in nervousness. Hanzo’s parents are nothing like the traditional and strict people had imagined, almost behaving like older versions of Genji. Hanzo is certainly more reserved than his parents, and he wonders if that is due to the elder’s influences. “All right,” he says, “then you can call me Jesse.”

“Jesse,” Sojiro repeats. “We have much to discuss. Kisano, Hanzo, Genji,” he says, turning his attention to them as he says their names, “we will meet you for lunch shortly.”

Jesse looks at Hanzo who gives a subtle nod, then a not-so-subtle wink. Jesse holds his breath in an effort not to chuckle or squeal or even reach out for Hanzo, instead giving his own nod and watching as the trio leave the room. 

“I trust Hanzo was not difficult?”

Jesse takes a breath and holds it, turning to Sojiro. He gestures to the futons and low table in the corner of the room, a sake jug and cups sitting atop. “He was actually a perfect gentleman,” Jesse says, exhaling slowly. “Quiet, kept to himself for most of the sail to America but eventually came out of his shell when we arrived.”

Sojiro hums as he takes a seat on the futon. “I worry about him sometimes,” he says, concern heavy in his tone. He picks up the jug and pours the sake into the cups. Jesse takes a seat, sitting in seiza like Hanzo taught him and accepts the cup when Sojiro offers it. “He is honourable, loyal, headstrong.”

“Good qualities to have,” Jesse replies. He holds the cup in his hand and waits for Sojiro to take a sip first.

“He is also egotistical and has quite the temper.”

Jesse does his best not to react to that, in anger, laughter or any emotion which could be misconstrued. It does catch him off guard, however. “I did notice the temper, yes,” Jesse says slowly. “Understandable, given his past.”

Sojiro nods, taking a sip of his sake and prompting Jesse to do the same. “Hanzo tells me that you personally know the person responsible for holding Genji hostage.”

“Yeah,” Jesse breathes, taking a sip of sake. “He claimed to be family.”

“Is he?”

Jesse studies Sojiro. He thought Hanzo was stoic. Sojiro is un-damn-readable. Jesse nods slowly. Then he has a realisation, and it has him practically stumbling over his words. “I had no part in Genji’s kidnapping.”

Sojiro laughs, and of course, it is almost identical to Hanzo’s laugh; if not a bit more intense, bordering on maniacal, if anything. “I know, Jesse,” he brings the cup to his mouth, “I know.” He drinks his sake in one gulp, setting the empty cup on the table. Jesse decides that small sips are just fine for him. “Did Hanzo tell you anything more? About Ikuko?”

“A little.” He pauses, looking at Sojiro who raises an eyebrow in response; a prompt to continue. “Enough that I can add immortality to the list of things I previously thought incapable.” Sojiro nods slowly, looking out the window to his left for a long while, apparently lost in thought. “I ain’t goin’ to tell anyone,” Jesse adds, just in case there was any doubt.

“I know,” Sojiro breathes, turning to face Jesse. “Hanzo tells me you know of the spirit dragons, that you knew of them before you had met him.”

“All rumours. Didn’t believe it till I saw it.”

“It must have been quite impressive.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Jesse takes a final sip of sake, placing his cup on the table. Sojiro fills both their cups in the silence, he doesn’t continue the conversation or change topics. Jesse gives him a moment, but when it’s apparent he doesn’t want to continue, Jesse adds, “Genji didn’t tell me anything, either. When he was under my employ.”

“I know that too,” Sojiro says. “Genji is just as loyal as Hanzo. The only difference between them is Genji is not bound to the clan like Hanzo.”

Jesse hums. He wonders if it was Sojiro's doing that forced Hanzo to a life that mirrored his own, and he wonders why Genji isn’t forced follow the same path, why he is allowed the freedom to do what he wants, including sailing with an American… He then scoffs. “You recommended he sail with me, didn’t you?”

Sojiro smiles sheepishly, and in that smile he can see Genji. “After what you did for Hanzo, I knew that you would offer Genji the freedom and challenge he craved.”

“Genji is easily my most memorable apprentice. If he’s ever lookin’ for something to do, my door’s always open to him.”

“I am sure he will appreciate that.” Sojiro once again finishes his sake in one gulp, placing the cup on the table as he stands. He approaches his desk, a messy clutter of scrolls, inkwells and quills and plucks a small red silken bag out of the drawer. He holds it in his hands and the contents jingle, if Jesse had to guess it would be coins. Sojiro extends his hand and Jesse finishes his sake, placing the cup on the table before standing up. “For your troubles.”

Jesse takes the bag from Sojiro and tries to hide his surprise at the sheer weight of it; feeling much heavier than it looks. “You are too kind, Shimada-san,” Jesse says, bowing.

“Sojiro, please.”

“Sojiro,” Jesse repeats. “Really though, it was no trouble. Genji is my friend. I didn’t do it for a reward.” A monetary reward is nice, though having his way with Hanzo was reward enough. Not that he would ever tell Sojiro that.

“I expect you did not have plans to return to Japan quite so soon.”

“Well no…” Jesse trails off. He had planned on returning in a few months at least upon taking on a couple of apprentices. The list is long enough and he has the time. Now, he might as well drum up interest and take on apprentices locally.

“And I assume you used coin from your own pocket to keep my sons fed and bathed?”

“Well of course—”

“Then for your troubles,” Sojiro says, looking at the bag in Jesse's hand. He smiles, saying, “Please.”

Jesse nods, knowing full well that you always accept a gift when presented. “Thank you, Sojiro.”

Sojiro nods then looks at the doorway. “Come. The meal will be ready.”

Jesse follows Sojiro out of the room, back down the hallways of the castle. The approach the kitchens, turning a corner Jesse didn’t take previously and are greeted with a large dining table. Hanzo, Genji and Kisano sitting on futons in front of bowls of soup. Jesse salivates looking at it, and then looks back at Hanzo, noticing he has changed his clothes to a royal blue kimono, and his hair is tied in that absolutely gorgeous low ponytail again. Hanzo smiles and Jesse just cannot resist the urge to sit next to him as Sojiro sits opposite.  

Allowing a moment for Sojiro to gesture to eat and when he doesn’t, Jesse responds with the word Hanzo made him practice over and over when he stumbled on it in a drunken discussion: “ _ Itadakimasu. _ ” With a nod of approval from Hanzo, and an identical nod from Sojiro, they start eating. Lunch ends up being eight courses of food, each one more delicious than the last. When it came to the makizushi, wasabi paste was brought out and Hanzo offered quite the demonstration in how much to add to food without it being considered an insult to the chef. The flavour was definitely bold, but the sudden hit of heat and just as quick disappearance is nothing compared to some of the peppers Jesse has had in his time. Definitely a great flavour, and something he will have to invest in for his travels.

Jesse stays at the castle late into the afternoon, sharing a drink with Hanzo after Genji, Sojiro and Kisano finally left the two of them alone. Most of it is spent in silence, just enjoying each other’s company as they braved holding hands.

With a heavy heart, Jesse finally leaves the castle behind. Hanzo walks Jesse back to his boat, and they spend it in silence. Every step he takes is filled with dread, knowing that each step taken is leading to the last one shared with Hanzo. When he sees his boat in the pier, Jesse takes Hanzo’s hand. The last hints of the sun cast the clouds in the sky a fire red, lanterns are being lit along their path as a multitude of people enjoy early evening strolls. 

Taking that final step and stopping at the ramp, Hanzo takes back his hand and runs his hands over Jesse’s chest, smoothing out his waistcoat underneath his coat. “Red does suit you.”

Jesse smirks, looking over Hanzo. “And blue you.”

Hanzo flashes a confident grin before easing into a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly, hesitating a moment before placing his hands on Hanzo’s waist. “Down that I have to leave you here.”

Hanzo nods slowly before pulling him into a hug. Jesse slides his hands up Hanzo’s back and holds him tight, burying his head in the crook of his neck and for the final time taking in his smell. He feels Hanzo’s head brush against his, and he pulls away enough to meet Hanzo in a chaste kiss; the last kiss they’ll likely ever share. 

“I will miss you,” Hanzo whispers as he parts, his lips just touching Jesse’s. “But I am thankful you will be in Japan for the foreseeable future.” Jesse pulls back, looking at Hanzo with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I will be able to see you when I wish.”

“I thought you didn’t want to continue this, ‘cause of your ma and your marriage.”

“I cannot keep living my life through her, through the clan. Father does what he pleases, it is time I allowed myself the same.”

Jesse can’t help but smile, pulling Hanzo in for another hug. He wants to say the words, those three words sitting on the tip of his tongue, but refuses to even say them in his mind. There might be a hope of seeing Hanzo again, that could just mean sharing a meal, a passing drink. Something quick, but definitely not the life he wants to share with the man. He swallows thickly when Hanzo pulls away, pushing down the tears which threaten to spill. “You take care of yourself, Shimada-san,” Jesse whispers, voice wavering.

“And you, Mr. McCree.”

Hanzo takes a step back and Jesse’s hand slides down his arm. Another step, and his hand is in Hanzo’s. A third step and Hanzo is gone from his grasp. Hanzo smiles and winks before he turns away, and as much as Jesse fights it, hot tears roll down his cheeks. He watches as Hanzo walks away, and doesn’t move until Hanzo is lost in the crowd of people. He sighs heavily, turning on his heel and proceeding up the ramp. He takes slow, deep breaths as he turns the lever to withdraw the ramp, as closes the door to the boat, as he walks through the engine room and as he climbs up the ladder. By the time he’s back on deck with Bastion, the wave of sadness and frustration and nausea has passed, and he flashes the automaton a grin. 

“All right, Bas, to Edo we go.”

_ “Will you be all right, Jesse?” _

“Yeah, Bas.” Jesse smiles, looking from Bas to the castle in the distance and adds, “I’ll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The very spit of..." the older phrase of "spitting image"  
> “Itadakimasu” translates to "I gratefully receive" and is said by the guest of honour before a meal.
> 
> And there we have it!! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it - it was hard and a challenge, but I did enjoy it. Writing a period piece has opened my eyes to the origins of a lot of phrases and idioms, most of what I wanted to use first coined after 1865, and I got so frustrated with all the research I was doing that I vowed never to write another period piece. However, the cogs are turning on a sequel. I have a basic idea of the plot and where it'll be set, and who else from the Overwatch universe I want to include, but nothing's been put to paper yet. It might happen soon, it might not, who knows.
> 
> This fic is the first of several amazing stories in the [McHanzo Big Bang of 2017 - 2018](http://mcbigbang.tumblr.com/), and I do encourage you to check them out. I had the pleasure of beta reading three of them and they're fantastic stories!
> 
> I'm hoping to get back onto the writing bandwagon after this, this fic has been my life for the last six weeks and I'm eager to jump into something else.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and see you out there!  
> \--ChillieBean

**Author's Note:**

> My list of resources I consulted with throughout the fic that wasn't earlier credited:  
> [Western slang](http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang-p.html#P)  
> [Speaking cowboy](http://cowboykisses.blogspot.com.au/2012/04/cowboy-speak-slang-and-jargon.html)
> 
> I have a [Tumblr!](https://chilliebean5.tumblr.com/) Come say hi!


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